Tension
by NaturallyBroken
Summary: The exact nature of Agent Barton and Directory Fury's relationship is known to few. It isn't romance but it is based on care and trust. What happens when Barton is forced to betray Fury? Will Fury ever forgive him and more importantly can Barton forgive himself? Takes place during and after the Avenger's movie, spoilers. Rated M for BDSM and language.
1. Tension

_A/N: This is a bit of a departure from what I've been writing. It's also not your usual pairing. But I hope you give it a chance and I really hope you like it. This first chapter is a light intro, things get more serious in chapter 2. Let me know what you think. Please!_

Once again up in the nest. It wasn't Hawkeye's name for it but it seemed to stick with everyone else so he didn't argue. At least people would know where to find him if necessary. Since the Tesseract had been brought back to the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility most of his waking hours was spent watching it and by extension Selvig from this high vantage point. It wasn't bad work as things go, he was in a climate controlled room, he had space to move in, and no one was shooting at him. But he was bored out of his mind.

Clint Barton was not a stranger to sitting in one place for hours, maybe even days waiting for a target. This was different; there wasn't a specific target but eventually someone or something would come after the Tesseract. Barton's money was on something. Anything that could get through all the outer defenses would mostly like be alien in origin. And that worried him. Before S.H.I.E.L.D's encounter with Thor and the others from Asgard, Barton was sure that he could defeat just about anything. If not defeat it, then be part of the team that could. Now, he wasn't so sure. Before Thor, demi-gods were just something you read in mythology books, they weren't walking down your street.

Finally Selvig is done working with the Tessaract for the day which means that Hawkeye's tour of duty was at an end. Someone would replace him but he would still be on site if there was an issue. Selvig would be going back to his quarters where he would be someone else's responsibility for the next six to ten hours. Barton climbed down to the floor and was in the hallway toward the cafeteria shortly after Selvig left with his escorts. He was so focused on getting something to eat that he passed right by the only traveler in the hallway bumping them before continuing on.

"You forget your manners up in that nest?" the man says calmly but with a definite hint of authority.

Barton stops, his heart beating wildly in his chest. A shiver of delight goes through him. He calms down, takes a quick look around to make sure they are alone, and turns with his head bowed. "No sir, I was just thinking about how hungry I was…"

"Did I ask for an explanation?" the taller man snaps at him.

"No sir."

"I need to talk to you in my office. I'll have some food sent up."

Clint fell in beside Director Fury and followed him to his office. He kept a neutral look on his face for anyone they passed along the way. Inside Fury's office Barton flops into one of the two chairs in front of his desk and closed his eyes for the first time in sixteen hours. After food arrived Fury closed and locked the door. Only then did Clint take his usual, favorite place, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Fury's chair.

"This is a work meeting; you don't have to sit there."

Clint looked up, "I know but we haven't had any time recently…I miss it."

Fury's ran his hand gently over Clint's hair, "I know but unfortunately until Selvig figures out this Tessaract thing I need you there. But maybe I can have you debrief me on the situation more often. Although I think that may be necessary anyway…"

"Mmmph," Clint replied while trying to shove half a sandwich in his mouth.

"Make sure you don't eat your fingers there. I can't really explain it. Someone's coming for the cube. I can feel it, if I close my eyes, I can almost see who or what it is."

"Channeling the Allfather?"

"Who?"

"Allfather, Odin, Thor's dad. I've been reading up on Norse mythology, very similar to Asgardian history. I'm beginning to think Thor is not first contact. Anyway Odin can forsee the future and shit, gave up an eye to do so. And you being short an eye as well…"

"Barton…"

"I thought this was work, not play," Clint says with a mischievous grin.

"It is, which is why you got a warning…"

"Damn."

"I know I miss it too. When all this is over schedule yourself a week's vacation." Fury lowered his voice and said in a deeper tone "You are going to need some recovery time when I'm done with you."

"Sir?" Clint said in a much quieter respectful voice.

"Yes, my wild boy."

Clint shivered before he refocused on what he was going to say, "Unfortunately I think your feelings maybe right. I've been antsy the last few days. At first I thought it was the 16-hour shifts Selvig has been working. But I've been feeling that itch, like right before my target comes into view. Something's coming." Clint yawns, "We've had this thing way too long for there not to be an attempt."

"I agree. You should head to bed. Selvig is likely to be at it again in a few hours. I wonder if he's feeling it too."

Clint looks up at Fury for permission and he nods. Clint throws his trash away in the nearby trash can and stands up, yawning again. "Probably, but you never know with scientists. They all creep me out. Please tell me there will be another briefing tomorrow. I need something to look forward to."

Fury smirks, "Yes, another briefing tomorrow. So if I'm Odin what does that make you, Thor?"

"Like I'd ever be pure enough to swing Mjolnir. I'm the other son Loki, god of mischief."

"And we both know what happens to boys that make mischief..." Fury opens one of his desk drawers and pulls out a small gray box tied with a black cord and pitches it to Barton who catches it in one hand. "I was going to wait until Halloween to give this to you but figure you can hold on to them for me."

Clint opens the box to find a set of nipple clamps with tiny arrow charms hanging off of them. "You know how much I fucking hate…" He could feel Fury's glare on him, "Thank you, sir; I will take good care of them."

"I will only use them on our anniversary, unless that "mischief" of yours gets out of hand. Now go to bed."

"Yes sir," Barton began to open the door; he couldn't resist a little more mischief, "Goodnight Allfather."

Fury let out a low mischievous laugh, knowing he would get to use those clamps way before Halloween rolled around, "Night, Loki-boy."


	2. Halloween

_A/N – This is a flashback chapter. We'll be making our way back to the present in the next chapters. This chapter contains a BDSM scene. While not explicitly sexual it is an adult situation. Once again I hope you like it and would love to know what you think._

Last Halloween Clint was at the apartment he and Natasha shared the rare times they weren't on a mission. Natasha was actually on a mission that night, going to out to dinner with some dignitary and pulling as many secrets from him as she could. It was in town and she figured she'd be in bed by midnight. She had no intention of sleeping with him if she didn't have to. Clint on the other hand was off for the first time in two months and intended to go out and party.

"You look ridiculous," Natasha said when he finally came out of his bedroom.

"I think I look adorable."

Natasha rolled her eyes at him, "You look like a fool."

"Perfect, since that's what the costume is supposed to be."

"And this is how you dress to pick up someone at these places?"

"No. Well the shorts maybe. But, they are throwing a costume party at the bar and I don't want to be yet another cop, soldier, or something else in uniform."

"I don't understand this Clint. If you want someone to beat on you we can just spar more often."

"It's not the same Tasha. We've gone through this before. I wish you would come to a demonstration. I would let you see me in a scene but I think you'd probably forget I'm not in danger and kick the guy's ass."

"But how can pain give you pleasure?"

"How can this?" Clint moves to her and licks the small little pocket of space against her breastbone not covered by her cleavage and Natasha moans quietly.

"Stop that."

Clint arches an eyebrow, "Oh? Not wanting to change your panties before dinner with Ambassador creepy?"

Natasha pushes him away, "Asshole."

"The question still stands, how can that give you pleasure? Most people would find that, at the very least, annoying. Whereas I know, doing that at the right time can send you right over the edge."

"I don't know and I don't have time for this." Natasha straightens his jester's hat. "Have fun, be careful, and if you are not back when I wake up, I'll hunt you down."

"Love you too Tash."

Clint left a few minutes after Natasha, but not before throwing a pair of sweatpants on over his leather shorts. He had opted to go with them instead of traditional tights but he wasn't about to walk to his car in them besides it was a little cold outside. He could take the pants off when he got to the bar.

When he arrived at the bar it was already packed. Every man he found interesting looked to be already paired off. Great, he thought, yet another search through the dregs for a one-night hook up. That's when he noticed the very tall man off in a corner to himself. What made it interesting wasn't that he was tall but that there seemed to be a six-foot circle devoid of people around him. As packed as the bar was it was astonishing. Clint didn't get a crazy vibe off of him but still, why was everyone so distant?

Not being one to stay away from danger, Clint strolled right over to the tall stranger who he realized, as he got closer, was dressed as pirate complete with eye patch. "Argh there matey."

The stranger shook his head, eyeing Clint's costume. "Hopefully you are better at jokes than impressions."

"I think so. I tend to get mixed reviews…" Clint sticks out his hand. "You can call me Wild Boy." He would never give his real name unless he became involved in a long-term relationship; so far he'd never found the occasion.

The stranger chuckled, quiet and deep, while shaking his hand. It was a strong grip but he wasn't trying to prove anything. "I'm Sir."

"Sir what?"

"Just Sir."

"You going to run into a lot of confusion around here, probably half the Tops around here are Sir something the other half is Master something."

The stranger leaned forward, even though directly under one of the ceiling lights, the wig, mustache, and beard covered most of his face. But the glare from the one eye not covered by the patch seemed to pierce right through Clint. "I've only had one person ask my name tonight and that's all I'm concerned with."

Clint swallowed, "You mean me?"

"Do you see anyone else around here? I guess I come off a bit...intimidating. But you don't scare easy."

"Well my han…manager is pretty scary and his boss can be fucking frightening and I deal with them daily. Most of the assholes here trying to be big and bad are anything but."

"I prefer my bottoms to not use profanity in my presence."

"Guess it's good I'm not your fucking bottom." Clint just had to push the issue.

"But you want to be, don't you Wild Boy? Otherwise, why are you still talking to me when obviously the party is going on everywhere else?

Clint had to admit the stranger had a point. "So, let's say I was interested, what are you looking for?"

"Intelligence. I don't have time for fools." The stranger again gave Clint's costume the once over. "Strength. I don't need to be a gym rat but I play pretty hard. Mental strength as well. I'm not looking for someone who's going to bow and scrape to anyone who puts a Sir and Master in front of their name. When I bend their will to me, I want to know they are doing it for me and no one else."

"Submission is a gift, its special. If you are giving it to everyone it's meaningless."

The stranger nods, "Insightful."

"I guess, read it somewhere."

"So do you submit?"

"I have, once. I was young, stupid, thought that was what I was supposed to do. Figured out in the end all they wanted was a brainless dog to curl up at their feet and do tricks in front of their friends. I may not be the smartest kid in school but I'm not going to be anyone's Stepford slave. So now mostly I just come here, find someone who at least likes the same toys I do, get what I need, and move on."

"But you aren't getting what you need, are you? Sure, you are getting that pain turned into pleasure. Maybe even the adrenaline rush if someone plays particularly heavy. But that's not all you need is it Wild Boy? You want to be tamed, if even for a while. To let that chaos you call control go and let someone else take the reins, the burdens… take care of you." Clint is so entranced by the strangers words that he barely notices the hand on his shoulder or that the stranger has leaned in close until he whispers in his ear, "I could do that for you. I could relieve that burden, I could take you to the limits of your pain, your pleasure, and all I ask in for return is your submission."

Clint's mouth was suddenly dry, he swallowed hard. He wanted to respond in his usual flippant manner. Truth is he had pissed off most of the Tops he had been with; he just didn't see them as strong. He worked with true strength every day and that man didn't need to put a title in front of his name to show it. He had a title anyway, Director. Clint smiled inwardly at the thought of Fury. He had many a fantasy about being under a crop, a flogger, a paddle wielded by Nick Fury. The fact that the man seemed to be always clad in something leather nearly drove Clint mad on a daily basis. For him, Clint would gladly submit.

"Am I boring you?"

"No sir," Clint croaked, snapping himself out of his thoughts, "just considering your offer."

"What is there to consider? You belong to me for one night. After that if I decide you're worth keeping, you can decide if you want to continue. This is what you came here for…or are you afraid that you're the one that's all talk, not them?"

"I'm not afraid of anything. One night, we'll see how it goes."

"We can discuss the details at my place." With that the stranger walked past him toward the exit, not looking back to see if Clint followed. Clint took his time following him out the door, not wanting to appear too eager. Walking to the parking lot Clint heads toward his car. He isn't big on riding with people he doesn't know; besides his car is LoJacked. "We are not riding in your piece of shit car." The stranger says.

"It's a classic."

"Every car you've owned is a piece of shit that would be classic if you bothered to fix them up. Which given your schedule you don't have enough time to do."

"Hey," Barton said while starting to more closely assess his surroundings. He was about ten feet from his car and his gun. "How do you know so much about my cars and schedule?" He casually reached into his pocket and hit the remote lock on his key chain.

"I guess this costume was better than I ever hoped," the stranger removed the hat he was wearing along with the wig that was attached. The street light reflected on his smooth bald head and highlighted the scars around his patched eye.

"Fury" Barton breathed out.

"Disappointed?"

"Is this a joke?"

"No."

"Then fuck no I'm not disappointed."

"Watch your language."

A smile spread across Barton's face, "Yes, sir."

"We'll take my car and go back to my place. I removed the LoJack on my car long time ago. I'm sure you would prefer Romanoff not know where you've been tonight."

After Clint grabbed his sweats and a shirt out of his car, it was a thirty minute ride to Fury's place. The neighborhood was very working class but more white-collar than blue. Still it's not exactly where Barton had expected Fury to live.

"I prefer it over some snotty neighborhood. People stay out of your business unless you disturb them. Besides why spend a ton of money on a place I rarely see." The building Fury lived in was a four-story walk up. When they reached the fourth floor there was a door which he unlocked. "Before they updated the building this used to be an attic and maintenance area. I have the whole floor to myself."

Clint took a look around the apartment; there were no real walls so he could see everything from the entryway. It look more like a gym than a home, with workout equipment taking up the majority of the area. A simple kitchenette was off to one side and a door that he assumed was the bathroom. Off in a corner almost as an afterthought was a bed, a nightstand, and a couple of tall wardrobes that formed a wall from the rest of the room.

"Nice place, although I got to say not what I expected. But then can't say I really know much about you outside of work. Certainly didn't expect to find you tonight."

"Still think it's a joke don't you?"

Clint nodded, "I hope it's not."

Fury reached out, grabbing the back of Barton's head, somehow managing to grip the short cropped hair between his fingers. He leans in and breathes hotly against Clint's ear, "Don't worry, it's not. You may regret that when I'm done with you." Clint closed his eyes and let out a little moan. "Now there is a bench over there. Find a nice piece of floor beside it and sit."

Clint hurried over to the bench and sat down cross-legged, waiting. Fury took his time, going to the fridge pulling out a couple bottles of water, then over into the bedroom area and changing out of his costume and into a pair of lightweight black silk pants. He drops the bottles of water off on the bench before going into the bathroom to wash the rest of the beard adhesive off his face. When he passes the bench again Clint is drumming his fingers against the floor. "Am I boring you?"

"No sir… just ready."

"I'm not, so be still," Fury gets right into Clint's face, "or I'll make you be still you got that, Wild Boy?" Fury nearly growls the last two words out. A shiver goes through Clint.

"Yes, Sir." He says earnestly with just a hint of fear and anticipation placing his hands flat on the floor.

Fury smiles, "Good, you are getting into the headspace now. I can tell the difference between sir spamming and when you actually mean it. I will reward or punish accordingly, assuming this is more than a one-time thing. We can decide that in the morning." Fury walked off again leaving Clint alone.

Clint already knew his decision. He had dreamt of this situation from the first time he got in trouble with Fury. He's gone off half-cocked and nearly screwed up the entire mission. Coulson was usually the one who had reprimanded him when he smarted off or went against orders, but this time things were worst, people got hurt because of his stupidity. Fury had called him into his office and lectured him for nearly an hour. Clint only heard bits and pieces because he was just too much in awe at the power and strength that was Nick Fury. That lecture was part of his fantasies for weeks. He, of course, added other elements to it. Tonight he would get to see how close his fantasies were to reality.

Fury drops something into Clint's lap. Clint doesn't move. "You can pick it up, get to know it. It will get to know you real well later." Clint picked up the object, a flogger, and began to examine it. The handle was heavy, covered in a basket weave pattern of indigo and black. Clint ran his fingers through the leather tails, about 50 of them, each about a half-inch wide and foot and a half long. As he ran his fingers down he found that about half of them were knotted at the end. This wasn't a cheap novelty store flogger, this one meant business.

Fury sat down on the bench and absently trailed his fingers up and down the back of Clint's neck causing tiny shivers to go through archer. "I don't like restraints, too easy for a person to just zone out. I want you present through all of this. You will restrain yourself by placing your hands on the wall. If your hands leave the wall the session is over, am I clear?"

"Yes Sir."

"Safeword?"

Clint ducked his head and mumbled under his breath, "Widow."

Fury chuckled, removing the flogger from Clint's lap, "Hands on that wall and take off that stupid get up off. You can keep the shorts on, they aren't that bad."

Clint took off the jester outfit leaving it on the bench, walked to the wall, and casually placed his hands directly above his head on its surface. Fury came over and adjusted Clint into a position more to his liking. In the end Clint looked like he was about to frisked for weapons. He made a comment to that effect. It was met by a swift opened handed smack against his thigh that he was sure would leave a mark. "Careful what you say. Words have consequences."

"Yes Sir."

Fury moved behind Clint and began to swing the flogger in a figure eight. The ends of the flogger glide over Clint's back, barely touching it at first, gently waking up the nerve endings. Clint took a deep breath and relaxed as he let it out, finally accepting that this wasn't a joke, this was happening. He started to zone out to the relaxing rhythm when the first heavier strike went across his back. He stumbles forward, not from the pain of it; it really didn't feel anything more than someone patting you on the back, just the difference in tempo. Three strokes later he felt it again, then three strokes and again.

"On a scale of one to ten, how intense is that."

"One."

"That's what I thought, and this?" Fury stops the figure eight movement and instead swings the flogger to land diagonally along Clint's back, left to right.

"Three."

Then he swings right to left.

Clint goes slightly up on his toes, "Five."

"Good we'll stay there for a while." Gone is the fluidity of the figure eight movement replaced by a more concentrated diagonal, pause, opposite diagonal movement. The flogger is now to leaving multiple trails of red lines along Clint's already battle-scarred back. Between the sounds of the flogger striking, the sound of Clint's ragged breathing, occasional hisses, and soft moans fill the room.

This rhythm continued for a while with occasional ramping up or change in rhythm by Fury just to make sure that Clint didn't get used to things. One time Fury swings the flogger so that it wrapped around the left side of Clint's torso, smacking his chest and particularly one of his overly sensitive nipples. Clint's mouth was known for getting him in trouble but this time he managed to bit off the words with a gritting of teeth. Fury continued to flog along Clint's back as if nothing happened but a couple of minutes later the tips of the flogger are biting against his right nipple. Clint grits his teeth so hard it tenses the muscle in his neck, shoulders, and back. He tries to calm down some but then after a few more strokes the flogger is biting against his left nipple. He tenses his legs until they hurt to keep from turning around and telling Fury to quit hitting his chest. He doesn't want him to stop overall but he feels he's being robbed of his pleasure.

"Stop tensing. You're tensing because you are holding in your emotions. Don't hold out on me Wild Boy." Suddenly Fury swings the flogger back and forth across Clint's hips and ass, two quick extremely powerful strokes.

"Son of a fucking bitch!" The words fly out of Clint's mouth before he knows it. Fury returns to a lighter figure eight moment across Clint's back. After Clint finally begins to realize that Fury wasn't upset he starts to let go of the tension.

"See now isn't that better," Fury says when Clint finally relaxes his legs. "And I don't give a fuck how much you cuss in scene. I just want your emotions to be real and not held in. Understand?"

Clint nods, not trusting his voice at moment.

Fury ramps back up the intensity of his strokes, "Good. Are you ready to be pushed to your limit Wild Boy?"

"Hell yes Sir."

"Your safeword?"

"Widow, Sir."

"Good, wanted to make sure you still remembered it. You may need it."

The swings come heavier and faster, but then they slow and become lighter, then it repeats. At first Clint likens it to a roller coaster, with ever increasing hills. But as his arousal becomes stronger he likens it to a swing, each swing you think you are going to be high enough to touch the sky but then someone pulls you back.

He felt he was so close, he felt just a little more, a little harder, a little something and he could finally truly let go. He didn't know what to ask for and it seemed Fury either didn't know or did and was denying it to him. The pain of frustration hit him so much, hurt him so deeply that he balled his fist and slammed it against the wall, once, twice, and then a third time. Suddenly everything was quiet. He pulled his fist back to hit the wall again when he realized what he had done. He quickly flattened his hand against the wall but he knew it was too late. "Fuck me," Clint croaks out, his voice full of anguish.

Fury walks up to Clint, gently removes his hands from the wall and steps in front of him. "Session's over."

"No, please, no." Clint begs.

"My rules. Are you questioning me?"

Clint dropped his head, "No, Sir. It's just… I was so close…I was so close."

"I know that. But you broke my rule. We are done for tonight."

"Please, no, I can't, it can't…"

"I…Said…No. Why are you continuing to talk?"

"Because... Because." Tears of frustration welled up in the archer's eyes. Tears he refused to shed, they would only hurt things. He took a deep breath, lifted his head and faced Fury, "I need to prove to you I'm good enough to keep Sir."

Fury runs his hand through Clint's hair as the smaller man leans into the touch. "But you already have. You don't believe it though do you? You want me to see you on that edge, you want to be pushed to that edge cause no one has ever pushed you that far."

"Please."

Fury placed Clint's hands back on the wall, "This one time, I'll let it go. But if they leave the wall again, we are done for tonight, understand?" Clint nods his head.

"They won't Sir."

Fury takes Clint back through the scale of intensity again but much faster this time, only spending any appreciable times on levels seven and eight. By the time Fury gets to nine Clint is trying to dig his fingers into the wall. He's sure he's acquiring new scars but he doesn't care, these he will cherish. But Fury is careful to check every so often to make sure there are no breaks in the skin.

The pain, while intense is not the worse he's ever felt. The endorphins are kicking in and he knows that he only has to say one word or drop one hand and it will stop. But he doesn't want it to stop. He no longer feels the individual tails of the flogger just the heavy thud against his back as each blow makes impact. He doesn't hide his reactions from Fury. He allows himself to squirm, to curse, to yell, giving over to the moment, to the feelings. But his yells are mixed with moans because he's never felt this close to the edge before; he's never felt this strong, this good.

And at last when his cries were nearly unintelligible and his legs began to shake, Fury brought him back down, reducing the intensity of the blows until they were once again just light whispers against his flesh. He walked up to Clint, removed his hands from the wall and led him to the bench. He placed an opened bottle of water in his hand and wrapped a blanket around his rapidly cooling shoulders and back. "You did good Wild Boy; better than I could ever hope for."

"Thank you, Sir."

As with after sex, Clint nods off for a few minutes, then awakes with a start. He nearly drops the bottle water he's holding but his quick reflexes kick in at the last possible moment. He drains the contents of the bottle and sits it down on the floor. "Wow. That was…wow."

"You may want to take it easy tomorrow. You're riding high on endorphins now, but tomorrow…"

"Can't. I have a slave driver for a boss." Fury smirks at him. "I meant Coulson. I have a sadistic bastard for a director." Fury barks out a laugh.

"And I have a masochistic archer who doesn't know when to shut up for an underling."

"Sounds about right." They lapse into silence for a few minutes.

"I have an air mattress if you want to sleep here. I don't share my bed."

"Nah, I should probably get back. I'd probably sleep too long and Tasha would get worried."

"You should probably get dressed; I'll drive you back to your car."

"I'll call a cab, you're probably exhausted and have to be in a lot earlier than I do." Clint stumbles off to the bathroom to change. When he comes out Fury hands him the other bottle of water.

"Cab should be here in a few minutes. You sure you are okay enough to drive?"

"Still on an adrenaline rush so yeah, but I'm pretty sure I'm going crash when I get home."

Fury walks Clint to the door but stops just before opening it. "I told you my decision before but I'll repeat it now that you are more…yourself. I'm… impressed with you. I want to continue this, at least temporarily. I usually say one month, but considering our schedules I'll give it three. After then I'll decide if I want to keep you long term. Then you can decide if you want that as well. Agreed?"

"I don't need temporary, I know what I want and it's…"

"You don't know shit Barton. You are higher than a crack head right now. I need to know you are in this for the long haul. I need you to make that decision with a clear, functioning brain." He opens the door for Clint, "I'll send you a list of temporary rules. Actually read them. Don't skim them like you do everything else. Now go home and get some sleep, I don't need Coulson bitching to me tomorrow about your performance."


	3. Disclosure

_Well here we are chapter 3. Not much to say, except thank you for continuing to follow, favorite and review. I thought this was going to be a three chapter story at first. Well, obviously that changed. I'm thinking maybe five or six at this point. _

* * *

While driving home Clint was wide awake, still flying high on the combination of adrenaline and endorphins. However, once home, he was barely able to strip off his clothes and pull the covers over him before falling asleep. He woke up several hours later to find Natasha peering down at him.

"You have thirty minutes to get ready before we need to leave. You did remember we have a meeting this morning?"

"Can't you just take notes for the both of us?"

"You want me to tell Coulson you couldn't make it to the meeting because you were out partying?"

"Okay I'm up. I don't need a personal visit from Phil, because he'd do that you know."

Natasha just smirked and got off of the bed. "I'll make some coffee while you shower."

Exiting the bathroom, towel around his waist, Clint is diverted from heading to his room by the smell of coffee. He heads into the kitchen where Natasha is already pouring him a cup. "Ten minutes."

"Yes, Tasha, I can tell time." He takes the mug of coffee and heads off to his room to get dressed. Natasha turns to tell him to hurry up when she sees his back, covered with red welts in various stages of disappearing.

"Clint!" Natasha snapped at him, angry and fearful at the same time. "What the fuck happened to you?"

"Shit," Clint thought to himself. He had meant to shield her from this until they had time to talk and the marks had faded some. "We don't have time to talk about this Tasha. I'll give the details later. Just know it was one of the best nights of my life."

"Are you in pain?"

"No more than after sparing with you. Probably less since it's only my back and not my whole body."

Natasha shakes her head. "I can't believe this could be the result of a "best night" of anything, except maybe killing an enemy."

"I gotta get dressed." Clint walks into his room and closes the door. He comes back out to find Natasha impatiently waiting by the door, with his jacket over her arm.

"I got at least five more minutes." Clint says. Natasha holds out his jacket to him and lets go of it a second before he catches it. "Fine," Clint snaps, "I guess I'm ready."

Clint assumed he would be safe in the car from whatever argument Natasha was itching to have. Natasha didn't like to discuss personal things in public, even from the relative privacy of the car. But today apparently she changed her mind.

"What's his name?"

"What so you can hunt him down?"

"Quit being an ass, I'm trying to be supportive."

"You certainly don't sound supportive."

"I wasn't prepared to see…that."

Clint drums his fingers against the steering wheel and sighs, "Fair enough. He goes by Sir."

"Sir what?"

"Just Sir."

"Obviously not his real name."

"Yeah, I don't give mine. Why would you suspect I got his?"

"And this…time with him, it was good?"

"Very. It was… it was the most intense experience I've ever had. It was just…And I'm not just talking about his handling of the flogger, it was his presence, his strength…" Realizing he was starting to ramble, Clint took a deep breath and calmed himself. "Yes, it was good."

Natasha pretended to look at something out her window to hide her chuckle, "So, going to see him again?"

"Yes, at least for the next three months, it's a trial. If I'm lucky and he decides to keep me, it'll be just like with you."

"Trial? Keeps you? Okay I'm lost again."

"Did Nat not do her homework like I asked?"

"I tried. It… brought up too much past. I'll get to it, I promise."

Clint breaks a little too hard for the red light, "Oh fuck Nat. What happened? I'm sorry, I should've…"

"You didn't know about this. I didn't tell you."

"Doesn't mean I shouldn't have thought it may have… Look you can ask me anything you want about this. I'll try not to be such a dick about answering, you can tell me when you don't want to know something as well."

"Don't treat me like a chi…"

"I'm treating you as a friend, a partner," Clint runs his hand along Natasha's thigh, "lover."

Natasha pushed his hand away, "We don't have time for that. Just explain 'trial' and 'keeping you'. We can deal other stuff as it comes up."

"Okay, a trial is basically what it sounds like. A time period we explore our likes and dislikes. He gives me a set of rules I'm to follow and we see how well I follow them or if I'm willing to follow them at all. At the end of the trial, if he likes what he sees, if he thinks I'm good for the long haul, he'll offer me his collar. Think ring for married people. Well if he's into collars, god I hope he's not into piercings."

"So this collar it's like marriage. Is it exclusive?"

"Yes," he hears the tiniest of gasps from Natasha, "No, not that kind of exclusivity. I guess there are some people that do that but this would mean that I don't bottom, I don't submit, to anyone but him. This," He frantically points a finger back and forth between them, "is totally different."

"How do you know?"

"He would never make me leave you; he knows what you mean to…"

"How does he know…Clint do I know this person?"

"Uh, oh look we're here," Clint shows his I.D. to the guard as does Natasha, then continues toward the underground parking lot.

"Clint Barton…Do…I… know…him?"

Clint sighs as he turns off the ignition and nods, "Please don't ask me who it is. I'm sure he'll be okay with you knowing, eventually. Just not right now. Promise me you won't try to find out either. This is really important to me; I don't want to screw it up."

"Okay, I promise. But don't make me wait too long; you know you don't like me when I worry." Closing the door Natasha adds, "Please don't let it be Anderson, he's a dick."

Clint laughed, "Come on Nat, I have some taste."

As expected the meeting droned on and on. So boring was the meeting that Clint was actually looking forward to doing the administrative stuff that made an otherwise exciting job suck. After the meeting he heads to his shared desk in the general administrative area. He entered the code to the electronic lock on his drawer and pulled out his laptop. Checking his email Clint immediately spots one from Fury. He resists the temptation of opening it first, knowing he'd probably forget about reading anything after that.

The emails consisted of mundane announcements of promotions, new hires, a couple of casualty reports, and several emails from Coulson, mostly telling Clint to read his email. He skimmed through most of it and responded to Coulson's just so he could say he read it. Finally with all the emails dispatched he opened Fury's email, to find it was just another memo. It was about the Tessaract, the glowing piece of space junk that had been the subject lately of most meetings. The memo was reminding everyone to check their guard schedule and that they would be moving it soon to a more shielded facility so that Selvig could do more advanced experiments on it. Soon, Barton knew, meant anywhere from tomorrow to next year so he wasn't too worried. Right now he had a four-hour watch shift when he wasn't on mission. At first he had to be on site 24/7 but after a couple of months and no one coming for the Tessaract, everyone had relaxed a bit and he had finally had a day off. And what a day that was. He was disappointed not to see a more personal note from Fury but realized that the Director had more important things to do than to email him.

Clint had a couple of hours to kill before his four-hour babysitting shift, as he called it. It felt weird that he could actually go home afterwards after living on site for the last two months. He mused that if Natasha was free that night as well maybe they should get some pizza and talk. He had told her early on about this part of his life, but because of work he hadn't had time to indulge in it more than a half dozen times since then. He usually waited until she wasn't in town to play. The rare times she had been in town he had been careful not play hard enough to mark. Truth was he didn't bruise easily so it was understandable she freaked.

Clint sent a quick text to Natasha asking her to have lunch with him before his watch and dinner that night if she was free. A few minutes later she text back that she was in a debriefing with Coulson but that dinner was fine as they needed to talk. Clint sighed and put his phone back in his pocket. He hated when women said they needed to talk. He headed to the cafeteria to grab something to eat when his phone vibrated. Thinking that maybe Natasha finished her debriefing early he pulls out the phone to read the text.

"The next messages are for your eyes only." He had received these texts before, they were never good. What usually followed was a solo mission that was just this side of legal. Clint headed off to the archery range. There he would be able to get into the duct system that he usually hid in when he wanted to be alone. Most people just made sure they were alone before reading the texts; Clint didn't trust the security cameras either. Relaxing as much as he could in the odd shaped space he waited for the next text, hoping he would at least have time for dinner before shipping out.

The phone buzzed and he looked at the text. "Temporary rules for Wild Boy." He just managed to suppress the yelp of excitement. What followed were a series of texts; "Never hide your emotions or reactions from me." "You will restrain yourself during each scene. Hands on wall, they leave, scene stops." "Only Coulson and Romanoff will know, because they will figure out anyway. You will tell them." "When I call, you come. Only exceptions are work and Romanoff." "When at my place you sit on the floor." "After a session you will text me when you get home." "You will email me the next day with a report of the session noting what was good, bad, and any emotions or injuries that came to light afterward." Clint groaned at the last rule, he hated writing. Another text came through, "No bitching about that last rule." Clint chuckled quietly; apparently his displeasure had not gone unnoticed. His phone buzzed again, "Acceptable?"

"Yes Sir." Clint quickly texted back, "When do I get to see you again?" It seemed like forever before he received the next text but it was really only ten minutes. "Tomorrow night. Dress as you would for sparing, bring Chinese food. I'll give you my order later, going into a meeting now."

Clint read through the messages a few more times until he had them memorized. Then he reluctantly erased them all and climbed back out of the duct and headed to the cafeteria.

* * *

Clint got back to his apartment five minutes after the pizza delivery guy. He walked in to find Natasha bringing in plates and drinks from the kitchen. She had a schooled look of calm on her face that told Clint she was really pensive and trying hard to hide it.

"How was your shift?"

"Mindnumbing. Selvig was working for part of it, so at least there was a change in scenery."

Natasha nodded as she started to put a couple slices of pizza on her plate, "Take off your shirt."

"Can I at least eat first?" Clint said with a smirk on his face.

"You can eat after you take off your shirt; I want to see your back. You can eat while I look."

"Is this part of that talk you wanted to have?"

"Of course." Clint complied and took off his shirt, turning his back to Natasha only after taking a slice of pizza for himself. Natasha was silent. The only way he knew she was still behind him was because he could feel her breath against his back and her fingers trailing lightly against his skin. "Will it always be like this?"

"Doubt it. But I promise I'll keep it out of view if it happens again."

"Not necessary I'm prepared now."

"I don't want you to think that this is all there is to it… He's making me write a report on all future scenes, I'll ask if I can share them with you. You can read them when you're ready and ask me questions if you think it will help."

"Maybe," Natasha sighs, "I trust that you won't do anything too stupid. It's just before it was just something you talked about. Now it seems that it's going to be part of our lives…wait did you say you have to write a report? You must really like this guy if you are willing to write anything. Usually you're always complaining…"

"I'm not allowed to complain about the reports, one of the rules."

"Maybe this guy should teach this to Coulson, I'm sure he would love to get a report on time without you whining."

"Funny Tash, real funny."

"So when do you see him again?"

"Tomorrow night, we are having dinner at his place. I don't know if we are doing anything else."

"And when do I find out who we are talking about?"

"Now if you want to… he said you would figure it out eventually."

"Smart man. So…"

"Fury."

Natasha was silent, waiting for Clint to laugh, to tell her who the man was really. But, he just looked at her, and then after a few moments he looked away, "I take back what I said about you not doing anything stupid. Scratch that, not stupid, fucking insane is better. Have you even thought about what will happen if this ends badly? He could destroy your career, your whole life Clint."

"What is life without risks?" Clint tries to chuckle but it gets caught in his throat.

"This is not a joke. How could you even…?"

"I didn't realize it was him at first, he was in costume, and it covered a lot of his face. But he knew who I was. And I don't think he would be petty if things don't work out. Please Nat, don't be mad. Honestly, I've wished for this, for him, for so long and now that I have a chance… Please be okay with it, for me."

"I'll try." Natasha softened her tone, "But Fury? I never knew Clint. You've told me about every man you've had an attraction too."

"Well almost."

"There are others? Coulson?"

"Mother Hen? Hell no. And no I'm not telling you any others. I figure why mention the ones I don't have a chance with." Clint put back on his shirt, "Can we talk about something else now?"

"Sure." Natasha reaches over to the table beside the couch and picks up a gun catalog opening it to the dog eared page. "I think I want this for Christmas."

* * *

Clint didn't hear from Fury until the next day, right as he was finishing his shift guarding the Tessaract. A simple text message, "General Tso's Chicken, quart, brown rice, two egg rolls, no sauces, this is for both of us. 8pm on the dot; don't make me wait.

Clint arrived at Fury's place at ten minutes before eight. After taking his time parking and getting up the stairs he still had a few minutes to wait before knocking on the door promptly at eight. Fury opened the door almost before Clint finished knocking. "Outside of this door you are Clint Barton, your own man, inside this door you are Wild Boy and you belong to me. Agreed?" Clint nodded; once again Fury's words had robbed him of his voice. "Come in then, I'm starving."

Clint sat the food on the kitchen table beside the plates, taking everything out of the bags. "Am I dishing this out or are you?"

"I am."

Clint nodded and sat on the floor cross-legged next to the only chair at the kitchen table while Fury dished up the food. "I see you remembered the rules," Fury said while handing Clint down a plate and a bottle of water.

"The one chair was a big clue, but yes I remember things that are important Sir."

Fury sat down with his own plate and noticed Clint hadn't started eating yet. "You can eat. Is waiting to be told to eat one of the things you learned from your previous submission?"

"Yes, he was big on rules and protocol. I tried to unlearn most of it, but some of it seemed a nice thing to do with the right person."

"I guess I'll figure those out along the way. You can keep this one. I may want you to unlearn others if I find them annoying."

"Yes, sir."

They ate in silence for a while. Occasionally Fury would reach down and run a hand over Clint's hair or trail fingers over the back of his neck. "So have you told Romanoff and Coulson yet?"

"I told Tasha yesterday, I haven't seen Coulson yet."

"And?"

"She's worried. I don't think it's about you so much as your position. What you could do if things don't go well."

"Understandable. But you can assure her I've kept this and work separate before, it will be separate now."

"Yes, Sir."

Once finished with dinner Fury gathered the dishes, put them in the sink, and headed into the main part of the apartment. "Bench." Clint got up and moved to sit by the bench. Fury rolled over a chest on wheels, moving it in front of Clint. "Tonight I thought we should go over my collection. Find out what you like, don't like, and have no clue about. Remember just because you don't like something doesn't mean I'm not going to use it. Now pick up something you like." Clint immediately picked up the flogger from the previous night. "Well that one was obvious." Fury said taking the flogger and laying it on the bench. "Do you still have marks?"

"I think so Sir."

"Then show me." Clint stood up and took off his shirt. Fury examines his back for a few minutes, tracing the lines that were still left. "Not bad for the level we were working with. Nice to know you're not fragile. Okay, pick another."

Clint picked up the three riding crops that were in the chest, examining each and then finally selecting the one that had a triangle shaped keeper at the end. Fury put out his hand and Clint handed him the crop. "Seems like you have a really appreciation for crops."

"It was the first thing I ever experienced. And the one I've experienced the most often. After having a few broken on me because they were cheap, I took to going to tack shops and purchasing my own…" Clint was distracted by Fury tapping the crop against his hand in a steady rhythm. He watched the movement up and down, mesmerized. He unconsciously licked his lips and his breathing started to come a little faster.

"Stand up, place your hands on your head, don't move them." The first strike across Clint's ass stung, despite being buffered by his training pants. The second and third strikes pulled a moan from Clint's throat. "Do you get sexual pleasure from being hit with the crop?" Fury asked as he changed from individual strikes to a consistent tapping across the archer's cheeks.

"Yes, Sir."

Fury stopped, "You will not orgasm here. You can take care of that at home. Understand?" Clint nodded. Fury sat back down. "Pick one more favorite."

Clint sat back down and once again examined what was in the chest. He ran his fingers along the wooden paddle that lay on the bottom, but moved on to other things. He came back to the paddle several times before finally picking it up. Then he started to put it back.

"Is it a favorite?" Fury asked

Clint looked away, "Yes, sir."

"Standing up, bent over, or over the knee?"

Clint mumbled under his breath, "Over the knee."

"Was this part of a punishment or shaming scene?"

"Shaming, Sir. He was much taller and bigger than me. I was like a child compared to him. He never let me forget that. That I was small, helpless, his plaything to do as he saw fit."

"And why is it embarrassing you? The fact that you enjoyed being spanked like a bad little boy," Fury smiled. "Or was it that you enjoyed being shamed."

"Both" Clint whispered.

"Look at me." Clint reluctantly turned towards Fury but wouldn't look up at him. "Why are you embarrassed?"

"It's not a strong thing and you wanted someone with strength."

Fury gently put his hand under Clint's chin and lifted his head up. "I've seen you take down guys that had six inches and a hundred pounds on you. You aren't weak. You gave your power to him. Do you realize how much strength it took to not only lay yourself bare, but to build yourself back up again after it's over? This is what all this is, an exchanging of power. I have never doubted your strength." Fury nodded towards the chest. "Now pick up something you hate."

Clint looked over and immediately picked up a set of nipple clamps. They were his least favorite thing ever. These were a simple spring-loaded variety with rubber incasing the tips. "I fucking hate these things."

"Why?"

"Seems like all my nerves end in my nipples. I don't even like Tasha touching them during sex."

"Then I'll try to make this brief. Do you know what rule you broke when you turned away from me when I was asking you questions?"

Clint hissed out the word fuck before answering, "Never hide my reactions or emotions from you."

"Oh so you do remember now."

Clint sighed deeply, "Yes Sir."

"Turn towards me, place your hands behind your back." Clint did as he was told. "They will stay on for a count of five. You will do the counting. If I think you are robbing me of your reactions, another count of five will be added. Understand?"

Clint's breathing was already starting to get ragged, "I…understand."

"Slow your breathing down. Hyperventilating won't make it better." Fury placed both clamps on as gently and quickly as possible. Clint screamed out the first number as soon as the second clamp closed.

"One, ow fuck, two" Clint let out a yell, "three, I fucking hate these things, four, dammit, five." Fury immediately removed the clamps and Clint slumped down a bit, taking in a few deep breaths and clenching and releasing his fists. "I fucking…hate…those things."

"Then you will remember the rules won't you?"

"Yes Sir." Clint growled.

Fury gently raked his fingers through Clint's hair until it was obvious that he was finally starting to calm down. "Is there anything in there you don't know what it is?"

Clint looked over the things in the chest. Everything he saw he either seen demonstrated or had been used on him. His eyes then fell on a velvet drawstring bag that was tied shut. "What's in the bag?" Clint asked.

"It's a collar. You can take it out." Clint took out the collar and examined it. It was black leather with silver hardware, and carved into it were the words Sir's Colt.

"Former bottom, we were together three years."

"What happened?"

"A week after I gave him this, it was an anniversary gift, he betrayed me. Well actually he had been betraying me the whole time I just was to blind to see. Colt," Fury's voice broke just a bit, "Colt was an addict. I didn't know, he didn't use when he came over and said we couldn't see each other outside of this because of his work. Considering where I work, I understood." He sighed and picked up the crop from his lap and began idly tapping slowly against his hand. "It was Coulson that figured it out. One day Phil asks for a meeting outside the office. Hands me an envelope and then walks away, never said a word." He voice takes on a faraway quality to it, the tapping of paddle against his hand increases. "I confronted…Colt that night with the proof. He got angry, removed the collar… threw it at me. Told me if I couldn't trust him, I didn't deserve him." Fury becomes silent, but his hand doesn't stop. Each tap of the crop becomes a bit harder than the previous against his palm. Clint moves to kneel before Fury, placing his hands on top of Fury's hand, taking the blows for him.

"Don't do this to yourself Sir."

Fury looked at Clint's hands taking the blows and stopped, "He died of an accidental overdose three weeks later."

"I'm sorry Sir."

"Don't lie to me, if you want out just say so. If you can't adhere to the rules tell me. Trust is the most important thing to me. If you are to be mine you must never betray it."

"I won't, I promise."

Fury sighed. "I'm not in the mood for play tonight. You can leave. I'll need to check my schedule and let you know when I want you back over."

"Yes Sir." Clint gently tugs on the crop. "I'll put these away for you before I leave." Clint carefully puts everything back in the chest, placing the collar back in last. When he finished, he moved back to sit at Fury's feet. Fury reached out and ruffled his hair but wouldn't look at him.

"Go."

"Are you sure Sir?"

"Are you questioning me?"

"No Sir just concerned."

"I'll be fine. Now go."

"Yes, Sir."

It was a quiet drive home. Never once did ending the relationship enter Barton's head. All he thought about was how he could make things better, how he could prove to Fury that he wouldn't ever betray his trust. Arriving home, he texted Fury before getting out of the car. "Your Wild Boy is home safe. Never betray you Sir." As he put the key in the door he got a response. "I hope you are right."


	4. Months

_A/N - Adult situations are more toward the edge of M this time. Just fair warning. I also broke this chapter into sub-chapters referencing the passing months. Reviews are always appreciated as are PMs. Just like to know if I'm going in a good direction or not._

One

The next morning Clint wrote his first report for Fury. He didn't have to be at headquarters until his guard shift so he actually had time to think about what he was going to write. So far all he had was a title and three cups of coffee. To further stall he sent a quick text to Fury asking if he wanted the report sent to somewhere other than his work email. Fury responded with an address and that he was looking forward to reading it.

Clint sighed at the blinking cursor. There was so much in his head he didn't know quite where to begin. Then it came to him, the most important thing he thought Fury should know. "I am not Colt. I'll never betray you." Trust and loyalty didn't come easy for Clint. Time and again through his life he had put his trust in people only to have it betrayed, twisted, or trampled on. Ironically the first person he came to trust in a long time was Coulson. At first it was that he could trust that Coulson would kill him if he got too far out of line. But then he began to realize that Coulson would do everything to save him as well. Next was Natasha, a person no one really trusted. But she understood him like no one else did. Sometimes he saw so much of himself, his mostly former self, in her that it was scary. In many ways, he was her Coulson at first, but now their trust was an unbreakable bond.

And now Fury. Leader's always brought out the rebellious side of Clint. He had had his fair share of leaders who postured, who bullied, all to prove they were in charge. But never with Fury, he knew he was a leader, he didn't need to force anyone to believe it. That didn't mean that Clint still didn't rebel. When he did Fury shut him down, forcefully if necessary, but always with respect. In the end that respect was what drew Clint to him. It made Clint want to follow him, to be beneath him.

With the first line finished everything else seemed to flow naturally; reiterating his likes and dislikes, that he understood why he was punished, and that he would try and make sure it never happened again. After finishing up the report and emailing it, Clint got ready for work, heading in early to have a conversation with a certain handler.

* * *

The archer knocked on the door frame of Agent Coulson's office. Coulson was typing furiously and only gave a quick glance and nod for Clint to come in. Clint flopped into one the chairs in front the desk waiting for Coulson to complete whatever he was working on. He knew from experience that it was never good to interrupt his handler's train of thought. After a few minutes Coulson stopped typing, turned off his monitor, and turned towards the Barton.

"I assume this is not just a friendly visit, what do you need?"

"Can't I just come in to hang out?"

"That, Agent Barton, only happens when you are trying to avoid or escape someone and since you left my door open I assume it's not that."

Clint looked back at the open door, gets up, and closes it. "I'm not avoiding anyone but I'd like this conversation to be private."

"Ok… What have you gotten yourself into?"

"A relationship."

"I'm already aware of your relationship with Romanoff. There are not regulations against it and somehow it actually seems to improve both of…"

"Not that kind of relationship."

"And you know I'm well aware of your extra-curricular activities, need I remind you of last August? I'm not a drinking buddy, Clint, I really don't need to know the particulars of your life after hours unless it threatens your job and…"

"It's with Fury," Clint blurts out. To Coulson's credit he didn't flinch.

"Well, that was unexpected. However, it's not against regulations and as long as it doesn't affect work, I don't need to know."

"Well it seemed you knew about his previous relationship. He told me about… before."

"Well that was different. A person not in complete control of their faculties is a security risk. I know all your brain cells function, whether or not you chose to use them. Is that all?"

"I… I guess so. He said I needed to tell you."

"And you have. Isn't it time for your shift guarding the Tessaract?"

Clint sighed, "Yes. I should get going."

As soon as Coulson heard Clint's steps disappear down the hallway, he picked up his phone and dialed. "Nick, I think we should go to lunch. Yes, now would be fine."

Few people made Nick Fury nervous, but sitting with across from Agent Coulson in a non-descript pizza joint, he found he didn't have an appetite. Coulson, on the other hand, was meticulously making his way through his lasagna, clearly savoring every bite. "Your food is getting cold, Nick."

"I can't eat waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"Oh," Coulson wipes his mouth with a napkin "This is more of an informal what the hell were you thinking Q&A session. I'm not providing information, just looking for answers."

"Regarding?"

"Agent Barton."

Relieved, Nick breaks off a piece of his calzone and dips it into the marinara sauce before continuing, "Oh so he told you then."

"Yes. He says you told him about the tragic Colt."

Nick nodded.

"So he's okay with being a rebound?"

"He's not a rebound."

"It's been less than three months Nick. I think it qualifies… Did you tell him how long it had been?"

"I may have neglected to mention it."

"I thought this was based on trust."

"It is. And I told him the truth."

"Just not all of it."

"Not intentionally. I had it all planned out and well… I'll rectify the situation soon enough. Still he's not a rebound. If anything Colt was. Well more of a replacement for what I wanted, what I have now."

"We are still talking about Barton?"

"Yes, and I know it doesn't make a damn bit of sense. Hell I don't understand it either. I just knew. I've always known. Just didn't know it would happen. Hell it could still all blow up in my face. But fuck it, we work in a dangerous field, why would we go for safety in our personal lives." Nick looks at his watch, "Anything else? I need to get back for yet another meeting."

"Just don't break him Nick. Sometimes I think the only thing holding him together is his gear and Romanoff. I'd really hate to kill her saving you."

Nick laughs, "Are you sure you would win? Thanks for your concern Phil, but this will work out. Or not, but he's much stronger than you think."

Two

"Please Sir, I'm so close, I can't stop…"

Fury snapped the crop against Clint's ass causing the archer to go up on his toes while letting out an anguished moan, "What's the rule?"

"No cumming in your house Sir, but I can't hold…"

Fury trailed the crop down Clint's back before swatting him again, "You can and you will, just for a few more minutes."

Clint furiously went through his mind, trying to focus on something other than the increasing tightness in his lower abdomen. The hardness of his cock is almost painful, being held against him by now way too tight leather shorts. Finally, he started reviewing every single detail of that morning's briefing. It almost lulled him to sleep the first time he heard it, he hoped it would do the same now. It helped some, the sting of crop stayed where it landed, not telegraphing itself along his shaft as it had been for the last half hour. He slowed his breathing down and thought for a moment that he would be able to do this.

"Sixty seconds." Fury began snap the crop against Clint, once a second at first but then quickly began to speed up the tempo. Clint was rapidly losing focus as each stroke seem to telegraph its way up and down his shaft until he swore it was throbbing in rhythm.

"Oh God…"

"Don't."

"No…won't…come…please…oh…" The last fifteen seconds the crop was moving so fast that it felt like one long electrical charge moving back and forth from his ass to his cock. Clint put all his focus into one word, no, that he repeated over and over again until Fury stopped. Clint was silent a moment later, collapsing his body against the wall, hands still unmoved.

"You can release your hands." Clint did and collapsed to the floor. Fury brought him water and sat on the floor beside him until Clint felt strong enough to stand.

"I didn't cum Sir."

"I know. You should probably get dressed; your body is cooling off." Clint stumbled to the bench, retrieving his clothes before heading to the bathroom. Fury noticed that Clint was still very hard, "Keep the shorts on and just pull your pants on over them. Don't want you going off in here." Fury said with a smirk.

At the door Fury makes a point of looking down at Clint's still bulging crotch, "You will not take care of that in the car. Is Romanoff home?"

"You know damn well she's on a mission."

"Oh," Fury chuckled deeply, "I guess you'll figure out how to take care of that."

"You can be an evil son-of-a-bitch you know that?"

"Which is exactly why you keep coming back."

Even though it was cold, Clint drove all the way back with the windows down. However, when he got home, it was only a few seconds until he was out of his pants and pulling off the leather shorts. The sudden change of pressure against his shaft almost sent him over the edge right then. He sent Fury a quick text as required, "Home."

He had made it to the couch when he received a text back "Still hard?"

"Yes."

"Good control Wild Boy, take it slow and enjoy yourself, you did good tonight."

"Thank you Sir."

Clint laid the phone on the table, stretched out on the couch, taking his cock in hand and slowly began to stroke along the length. Building the pressure, the sensation, until he's right on the edge and then he backs off. He does this many times, enjoying the level of control he's exerting. Building up again, he shifts his hips for a better angle when a sore spot on his ass is scraped across the couch. A sharp sting is telegraphed from his ass, along the shaft of his cock, to the tip. As pain goes, it wasn't anything really but the sensation was too much for Clint and he finds his cock twitching in the tightened grip of his hand that's quickly covered with warm liquid release. Satisfied, yet frustrated, he wipes his hand off on his shirt and gets up to go take a shower. He looks at his phone and is surprised to see that it's been nearly two hours since he started. "How's that for self-control," he thought while making a mental note to definitely mention that in his report.

Clint texted Fury as soon as he made it through security check. In two months it had been as much habit as showing his I.D. card at the gate and front door.

"You're late," Fury texted back.

"Of course, Natasha's not in town. Coulson doesn't care. Problem?"

"Love flexing the bad boy, don't you? Maybe I'll have to add punctuality everywhere to the permanent rules."

Clint stopped in his tracks, "Permanent?" he texted back.

"I'm considering it. You still have a few more weeks to impress me."

"Yes, sir."

Three

Natasha arrived home to the smell of food cooking. Going into the kitchen she found Clint fussing over several pots on the stove. "Third night in a row, should I be concerned?" Clint answered with a rather passionate kiss that lasted until he heard the pasta water boiling over.

"Shipping out to the new facility, day after tomorrow. It's an indefinite assignment and I don't know who is allowed to visit the facility. Besides can't I do something nice?"

"Aww," Natasha said playfully, "You're going to miss me aren't you?"

"Not one bit. I have my right hand," Clint smirked while checking to see if everything was ready. He almost stepped out of the way of the shoulder punch he knew was coming. "Hey I'm cooking here," he teased.

"Then don't be an ass." Natasha opened the bottle of wine on the counter and poured herself a glass. "Is Fury going offsite as well?"

"Don't know, I guess I'll find out tomorrow night. It's three months; I guess I'll find out a lot of things."

Natasha poured Clint some wine and handed him the glass, "If he doesn't keep you, he's a fool. I know I'll never fully understand it but I've read all your reports. You seem to be very cooperative, loyal, and," Natasha smiled, "Obedient. You seem perfect for him."

Clint finished off his wine. Sitting the glass down, he pulled Natasha close to him, "So am I perfect for you as well?"

Natasha feigned indifference, "You'll do for now. Although with you gone, I may trade you in for a couple of new recruits..."

Clint huffed dramatically, just holding in a laugh, "You tramp."

"You should talk. Dinner ready?"

* * *

"I see the delivery guy beat me here," Clint says when Fury opens the door.

"That's not delivery, I cooked. Figured you're going to be eating cafeteria slop for god knows how long I'd be nice." Clint chuckled as he dropped to his usual eating spot by the kitchen table.

"What's funny, don't think I can cook?"

"No, Sir. It's just I do the same thing before Nat or I go on a long assignment. I've made dinner the last three nights because I don't know when I'm coming back."

"I apologize if I interrupted your schedule, just that this being three…"

"You didn't interrupt anything. Don't know how it started but it seems Nat and I have this ritual around leaving on missions. The day before we are all snarky and sometimes downright mean. The night before being shipped out we always avoid each other. The morning of the other leaves without speaking. Right now Nat's probably out at some bar, pretending she isn't going to miss me."

"If I didn't know how often you both risk your lives it would sound crazy, but somehow it makes sense." Fury hands Clint down a plate of roast beef and vegetables, "I thought comfort food would be appropriate."

"Thank you Sir, it smells great." As usual they spend the time eating in silence. When finished Fury puts his plate on top of Clint's who puts them away in the sink. Afterwards Clint starts to take off his shirt.

"No play tonight. Come sit on the bench, we are going to talk."

Suddenly dinner became a lead weight in Clint's stomach as he slowly walked over and sat on the bench. "Talk Sir?"

"Yes, tonight is the end of the trial period," Fury smiled, "I thought you would like to know my decision."

Clint started to look away but instead faced Fury letting him see all the apprehension, doubt, and fear in his eyes. "I guess it would depend on what your decision is. I've known from the first night what mine was, hell even before the first night. But it's not up to me is it?" Clint swallowed hard but didn't turn away no matter how much he wanted to.

"Correct it's my decision," Fury runs a hand over Clint's hair then gets up suddenly and walks away. "But you shouldn't be too worried. In the last three months have you disappointed me, not done what I've requested?"

"Well the second night, I hid my emotions, and then there have been a couple of times you told me that I was being a Brat."

"And were you?"

"I was selfishly putting my needs first."

"And did you correct the behavior?" Fury said walking back to the bench with a deep violent colored velvet bag in his hand. He drops the bag into Clint's lap.

"Yes, Sir. Or at least I've tried very hard to."

"And that is what's important. I don't expect perfection, that would be fucking stupid. What I do expect is growth, and I think you've grown a lot in these last three months. Open the bag."

Clint hastily opened the bag to find inside a black leather collar. It wasn't inscribed but a single silver arrow tip was inlaid at the center. "Would you put it on me Sir?" Clint asked nervously.

"When I'm ready. This is important and although I'm not one for fluffy crap there needs to be some kind of ceremony." Fury began to pace. Anyone else would think that he was trying to figure out what to do. Clint knew better, as he could tell by the subtle twitching in the taller man's fingers. They had hit another trigger in the memory of the tragic Colt.

It wasn't the first time, it was actually the third; it wasn't going to be the last. It didn't bother Clint, he still had triggers from the many foster homes and the circus; who was he to judge. Clint sat quietly waiting for it the pass. It's what Fury needed. Natasha needed to be held or to spar when she hit a trigger, Clint felt better putting an arrow in something.

Suddenly Fury stopped in front of Clint, "Strip. Everything. Then kneel." Fury put out his hand and retrieved the collar from Clint, sitting it and the bag on the bench. Then he turned and stepped away giving the smaller man room.

"Everything?"

"Did I stutter? Don't worry this isn't sexual. I have no interest in men that way." Clint removed all his clothing and placed them on the bench and knelt down in front of it.

"Ready Sir."

Fury turns and looks over Clint, "Put your hands behind your back. Good, that's better. I'll make this brief because despite what you think, I don't love to hear myself talk. The reason you are naked is because it represents a blank slate. It doesn't matter what you've done before with other Tops, it doesn't even matter what we have done. We start new. And since we are starting again, you have a choice; to submit to me with all that it entails or to walk away and not come back.

"I…"

"Don't interrupt." Fury snapped.

"Yes Sir."

"The rules from before are still in effect but you must agree to two more. 1. The collar belongs to me. I determine when it goes on and when it comes off. 2. I will dominate you outside this space now as well. You will know when that is when I use your special name. I promise to never use it in front of others. Understand?"

"Yes Sir."

Fury takes the collar from the bench and holds it eye level in front of Clint. "This collar represents a bond and a commitment. Not only from you to follow my guidance, to submit to my will, but also from me to keep you safe, to cherish the gift of your submission, to make you even better than you are now. If at any time either of us feels that we can't adhere to that commitment the collar is returned to its bag. Do you understand and accept this collar?"

Clint smiled, "Yes Sir."

Fury knelt down and put the collar around Clint's neck. As he adjusts it he can feel a shiver run through Clint. "Nervous about what you got yourself into?"

"No sir, just don't want to wake up and find it's a dream."

Fury secured the buckle, "It's not." Fury stands up. "Look me in the eye." Clint tilts his head up. "Who are you?"

"I'm your Wild Boy."

"And I am?"

"You are my Sir."

"Anything you want to say."

The words get caught in Clint's throat as he swallows and for the first time truly feels the collar around his neck. It's scary, exciting, and overwhelming all at the same time. After a minute he is able to croak out two words. "Thank you."

Fury sat down beside Clint, putting his arm around his shoulder. "No, thank you, you made possible something I thought would never happen again." Clint starts to shake. "You can put your clothes back on." Clint complies and sits back on the floor but the tremble is still there.

"I must be colder than I thought."

"Do you feel cold?"

"Not really but…"

"It's not cold. It's the weight of everything that just happened. You are so used to just playing at this. Now you get to put up or shut up." Clint just nodded. Fury rubbed a hand along his back. "It'll be fine. You are much stronger and willing than I could've imagined. This is what you wanted." They sat quietly while Clint calmed back down. Fury stood up. "You probably should be going. I'm assuming they will be heading out at o'dark thirty?"

"Of course. I assume you're not coming along."

"Not for a couple of weeks. Then I'll be there just periodically unless I'm needed more. Just wait on the report until you have time. Something tells me you'll be bored a lot out there." Fury helped Clint up and headed him toward the door. "You can keep the collar for now. I'll retrieve it when I get out there."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Goodnight Wild Boy."


	5. Betrayal

_A/N Part of this chapter crosses into the movie timeline. I took some liberties with the dialogue to be more fitting with the story, I hope you understand. _

As they came in for the landing, Barton realizes that he's been here before. "I thought they were building a new facility?"

"New section to the old facility actually. The whole new facility location was a bit of chatter for anyone listening in." Coulson responded. "Selvig will be doing more with the Tessaract here so we had to maintain as much secrecy as possible."

Clint leaned in and whispered into Coulson's ear. "Natasha is cleared for this facility right?"

"If not, I'm sure it can be arranged."

The detail that walked the Tessaract and Selvig into the new facility rivaled that of the president. Hawkeye and Coulson were at the back of the line. When they reached the final hallway, Coulson gently pushed Barton in a different direction towards a set of double doors and into an elevator where he turned a key next to the button for level M. "Where are we going Phil? I'm supposed to be watching that thing whenever Selvig is near it."

"You will, don't worry." The elevator stopped on level M. They exited into what seemed to be the inner workings of the facility.

"Maintenance area I assume."

"Yes, as well as background access to most of the facility and," Phil unlocked a door to his left. "Access to the catwalk for the new facility." Barton walked through the door and was immediately assaulted with all the noise from below. He walked to the railing of the catwalk and looked down, watching Selvig opening the case and placing the Tessaract in its new home. He walked from one end of the walkway to the other, crouching, standing, and listening. When he got back to the area by the door Coulson was standing there waiting quietly. "Meet your needs?" Coulson asked.

"Almost, get rid of the ladders on the end. Replace them with rope. Quicker for me to get down and most people can't climb rope worth a fuck so I don't have to worry about visitors."

"I'll have someone fix that immediately." Coulson turned to leave. "Your fingerprints should already be entered in the access list for both the door and the elevator, the keys are just overrides." Coulson picks up Clint's duffle bag. "I'll drop this off in your room. Call me when you are off shift and I'll show you where it is."

Ten hours later Clint was unpacking his belongings in his room. It a very simple as rooms went, bed, dresser, nightstand, table, and chair all nestled into a ten by eight foot space. It really didn't matter to Clint, he didn't plan on spending much time in there besides checking email and sleeping. Putting the last of his clothing away, he unwraps the collar that has been nestled inside his softest, favorite t-shirt. He lays on the bed holding it in his hands, letting his fingers rub against the smooth leather. It is something he had never thought he would possess. And now he had Fury's. It annoyed him that he didn't get to do one scene in it before getting shipped off to this facility but he figured when all was over Fury would make up for lost time. He ran a finger across the inlaid arrow one more time before putting the collar in the drawer and getting ready for bed.

The next morning as he was going up the elevator he texted Fury 'at work'. By the time he got out of the elevator he had a response, 'nice to know you follow rules even when not in the same state. Let me know when you are off shift'. His day was already better. He wanted to text Natasha as well but she was on mission and out of contact. Watching the Tessaract here was just as boring as it was before the move. The only difference was that there was more area and more people dealing with it. Clint knew he would be on this detail for at least a month or two before they would accept that no one would come for it.

That night he grabbed dinner from the cafeteria and brought it back to his room. He wasn't really interested in being social. The only two people he really was interested in talking to were not even in the same state at the moment. Coulson was still around but for the most part he was all business. He sat at the small table to eat dinner and texted Fury, "Off shift."

His response came a few minutes later. "Having dinner? If so where?"

"In my room, not feeling social."

"Until you leave that facility your room is part of my place."

Barton moved to the floor and continued eating his dinner there. "What about the bed?"

"You can lay there only, no sitting. Hope that helps until I get there."

"Yes Sir."

Each day he actually looked forward to heading back to his room after his shift. Barton was used to being a loner but that didn't mean he always wanted to be alone. Doing these little rituals prevented that. After a long day of being invisible it was nice to feel wanted and cared about.

Coming off shift one day, he immediately realized someone was in his room. The extra time it took for him to shift his dinner tray into one hand and pull his gun is what prevented him from shooting Natasha who was sitting on his bed. She didn't even flinch.

"Coulson thought it would be nice for me to surprise you in your room. I must remember to tell him he almost got me killed. That should at least warrant him owing me a favor."

"Why would you need a favor from Coulson?" Clint said as he holstered his gun and set his food down on the table.

"There are some files I would love to get a look at. Old friends I would like to catch up with."

"And kill?" Natasha simply shrugs. "You want me to get you something from the cafeteria?"

Natasha made a face, "No, thankfully I'm not hungry. You go on and eat."

Clint sat down and after a quick text began to eat. "So how long do I get to have you?"

"Just tonight, I'm going out of the country tomorrow. Coulson needed to brief me on some things in person it seems," Natasha flashes Clint a quick smile, "So he had me flown out here since he's under the same movement restriction as you."

"So I guess I better make it count, can't have you not missing me." Clint's phone buzzed, "Oh Fury says hi by the way."

"Still keeping you on a short leash I see."

"There is no leash Tasha."

Natasha glances at the nightstand, "But there is definitely a collar. Nice quality leather. Don't worry I didn't touch it. Just ran across it while looking for a piece of paper for a note, I was getting tired of waiting."

"You are such a bad liar with me. You were snooping and you know it. Do you want to see it completely? I can take it out and show you."

"If you want to show it off." Natasha said, feigning interest. Clint smiled and retrieved the collar from the drawer, holding it while Natasha examined it. "Very nice, the arrow is a nice touch. He must care for you very much."

"I think so."

"And there is never sex?"

"For some people there may be. I keep them very separate in my head for the most part; totally different needs." Clint places the collar back into the drawer. "If this was about sex it wouldn't be happening. I have no attraction to him that way."

"True," Natasha said teasingly. "Tony Stark is more your type."

"That asshole, not even on a bet. Besides is there room in his bed for anyone else besides his ego?"

"Oh I'm sorry; I forgot your taste in men is more otherworldly and demi-godlike."

"I'm not attracted to Thor whatever his last name was." Clint huffed.

"That's not what Coulson said."

"Coulson's a liar."

"Sure he is, I bet if I checked your laptop there would be all kinds of pictures of…"

Clint pushes Natasha back on the bed pinning her wrists with his hands, "How much am I going to have to lick you to make you shut your lying little mouth?"

"I'm going to miss you too Clint." Natasha says as she easily flips Clint over and pins him down instead.

Clint didn't get much sleep that night and stumbled wearily to his post the next morning. But everything was still so routine he didn't have to worry too much about missing anything. By the end of the first week his wanted something to happen just so he had an opportunity to shoot something. He decided to check with Coulson and see if there was a range somewhere in the facility. He'd much prefer sparing to work out some of the kinks in his muscles, but Natasha wasn't going to be back any time soon. Deep cover, he wished he was there with her.

Clint was sitting on the floor one night going through his email when he received a texted from Fury, "Busy?"

"No Sir."

"Good. Hands on a wall, up on your toes until I text back."

"Yes sir," Clint responded and was standing up before he realized that he said it out loud. After texting Fury, he placed his hands on the wall the way he had done so many times before. The first few minutes he felt silly, and wondered what would Coulson think if he walked in at that moment. A few more minutes and he could feel his breathing become deeper and he began to release some of the tension of being on high alert for eight hours. By the fifteen minute mark he's had to stretch his calves a couple of times always careful to keep his heels off the floor. His brain has slipped into the familiar headspace again and his body begins to ache with the anticipation and need for Fury to walk through the door. By the time the phone buzzes with a text Clint can barely hear it over his shallow breaths as he tries to keep his shaky legs in position. When he drops his heels to the floor he almost falls. He stumbles to retrieve his phone and collapses across the bed.

"Did you stay up the whole time?"

"Yes Sir."

"I knew you would. You have such good control. You'll show me how well again tomorrow night."

"You're coming here."

"Unfortunately not yet, I'll just have to trust that you are doing what I said."

"You can always trust me Sir. I won't betray you."

"I know."

Clint went to take a shower afterwards, letting the stinging lines of steaming hot water beat at his back until it ran cold. For the next several nights Fury gave Clint different tasks to perform that tested his stamina and control. All of which he completed easily until the last one, for the first time, he failed Fury. Five minutes before the text message, Clint went to shift position but lost his balance and went tumbling to the floor. He just laid there until he heard the buzz of his phone.

"Complete the task?"

Clint considered lying, failure was not something he was good at accepting but he knew that would only make things worse with Fury. Their relationship was based on trust, no sense in changing that now. "No Sir. I failed you."

"Intentionally?"

"No."

"Then you didn't fail me. You'll do better next time."

"But," Clint didn't know what to type. Fury said he didn't fail him then why did he feel so bad. He was startled out of his thoughts by his phone ringing.

"Tell me how you feel right now." It was Fury, and the just sound of his voice made Clint's mouth go dry.

"Annoyed, frustrated. I can do that maneuver in my sleep, and now when it counted…"

"Tell me how you really feel Wild Boy."

Fury could only hear Clint breathing on the end of the line, but he was patient. He knew he would say it eventually. "Afraid," Clint finally responded in a rush of breath. "Afraid that I fucked up and you'll want the collar back."

"Do you really think me that impetuous? It's not that you complete the task. It's that you put everything in to trying to. That you do it to serve me, to please me."

"That's what I wanted to do Sir, but…"

"No buts. Where is my collar?"

"In my nightstand."

"Take it out." Clint took out the collar and held it in his hand, blinking away the hot tears that were welling up in his eyes.

"I'm holding it Sir."

"Now put it on."

"S…Sir?" Clint stammered.

"Put it on." Clint put down the phone and did as he was told, the leather cool and smooth against his neck. He took a moment to run his fingers across the inlaid arrow before picking up the phone again.

"It's on Sir."

"Good now keep it on until you accept that you are mine and I'm not going to throw you away that easy."

"Thank you," Clint choked out, "I'll be better next time."

"I know you'll try. It's okay if you're not better. I just ask that you give it your all."

"Always Sir."

* * *

Clint was texting Fury again as he was eating dinner, it was even later than the day before and the day before that. Selvig seemed to want to live in the lab.

"Meet me in my office, level three, when you're done. Bring my collar." Clint nearly choked when he read the message. He hadn't expected Fury for a few more days at least. He quickly finished eating and retrieved the collar from its drawer placing it in one of the bigger pockets of his cargo pants. He checked several times before leaving his room to make sure it didn't seem obvious what he was carrying.

When he found Fury's office, Coulson was already there and seated. Since the door was open he just stood by the wall attempting to look calm while waiting for the conversation to finish.

"I'll get those reports to you first thing in the morning, Director. Unless you need them sooner."

"Morning is fine." Coulson gets up and heads out of the office, leaning over to whisper to Clint on his way out.

"Simmer down, Rover, he's here for a few days." Coulson says with a smirk before he continues down the hall.

"Close the door."

Closing the door, Clint turned to find Fury, in front of his desk, standing with his hand out. Understanding, he reached into his pocket and placed the collar into Fury's hand.

"How long did you keep it on last night?"

"Two hours Sir."

"A lot of doubt still in that head of yours isn't it? You will fail again. It's only human. Failing is not the problem. Letting it prevent you from moving forward is. Understand?"

"Yes Sir."

"No bring me up to speed on the security for the Tessaract."

Clint had a few days of enjoyment of being in Fury's company after shift; it was never long, as someone was always in his office when he arrived or queuing outside to talk to him. Never even enough time to put the collar on or sit at his feet.

And then Fury was gone, called away to Washington, D.C. for a series of meetings with council members. It was supposed to take a couple of days but ended up being closer to a week. Clint didn't realize Fury was back on-site until he ran into him literally in the hall. That night Fury promised to spend more time with Clint, unfortunately that was a promise he couldn't keep.

Clint came down the elevator from a sixteen hour shift. He barely remembered what time it was since Selvig was no longer starting at the same time anymore. Just whenever he woke up, showered, and ate, he would call Clint and tell him that he was going to start working on the cube. Clint was ten feet away from the door to his room before he realized someone was standing outside of it. Actually two people were standing there, Coulson and Fury.

"Coulson, Fury, is there a problem?" He tried to keep his voice calm and even but his first thought was that something had happened to Natasha.

"No problem, Barton," Fury responded indicating for Clint to enter his room. Both Coulson and Fury entered behind him with Coulson closing the door. Fury sat in the only chair available, Coulson sat on the edge of the bed. Clint caught himself before he sat on the floor. Instead he joined Coulson on the bed. But it felt wrong, he considered laying down but that would seem too casual in front of superiors so instead he went and stood near the door. "I'm going off-site in an hour," Fury continued when it seemed that Clint had found a comfortable position. "I don't know when I'm going to be back, so I would like you to report any changes in the Tessaract or the activities going on around it to Coulson. I've already shared with him our concerns about the increased interaction with it. Anything seems wrong or out of the ordinary, you or Coulson call me directly."

"Yes, Director Fury."

Phil gets up to leave, "I need to brief the rest of the security staff. Fury, I'll see you before you depart." Once Coulson is gone Clint goes to sit on the floor by Fury. Fury runs his fingers over Clint's hair as they sit silently.

"Time is always going to be an issue." Fury said finally breaking the silence.

"I know Sir. It's the nature of our job. It's nice when someone understands that."

"Do you need the collar to stay?"

"No Sir, I know I'm your Wild Boy, I won't forget."

Fury gently tugged on Clint's hair then stood up. "I need to leave. Don't get up, I like that image."

"I'll text you in the morning Sir."

"Of course, I look forward to it," Fury said as he shut the door.

Clint was very tired but decided he could sit there another few minutes before getting up and crawling into bed. Instead he fell asleep right there and didn't awake until Selvig called to let him know he was heading to work on the cube again.

Five days later and Clint began wishing something would just happen. He was on edge, exhausted, and really wanted to smash that stupid cube into a thousand pieces. Selvig rarely slept now, which means neither did he. And the feeling that something was going to happen soon still hadn't gone away. Eight hours into the sixth day, something did.

Clint was scanning the room, giving his eyes a rest from the bright glow of the Tessaract when suddenly there was a flash to the right of his line of sight. Then the room got noticeably brighter, in a pulsing kind of way. The work areas down below became a flurry of activity.

"What's going on down there," Clint snapped into his walkie-talkie.

"Not sure yet Hawkeye, Selvig is running around like a madman, but he doesn't seem to think it's a threat."

"I'll make that decision, let me talk to Selvig."

After a few minutes Selvig finally took time to answer Clint, "I don't have time right now Hawk…"

"Make time, what the hell is going on down there?"

"I think the Tesseract has turned itself on."

"Fuck."

"Exactly. I keep you updated."

Clint picked up his phone and called Coulson, "We have a situation. Threat level unknown at this time, I think we should call Fury."

Four hours later finds Clint, crouched still staring at the Tessaract, waiting for something, anything to happen. Everyone down below seemed tense but were going on about their business, so for the most part Clint put them out of his mind. He didn't realize Fury had arrived until he was nearly in front of the cube and looking up at him. "Director Fury is here and needs to speak to you," a voice squawked over the walkie-talkie. However, Clint was already halfway down the rope.

"Barton, what can you tell me?"

"Probably not much more than Selvig has, he's the scientist. But I figure if something is coming, it's likely to come through that." Clint said pointing at the Tessaract.

"What makes you think that?"

"Well Selvig did call it some kind of doorway right? So I figure things can come in through it as much as go out."

"We have more security on standby I'll have them come down here…"

"No, sir. What if we are wrong, what if this thing goes nuclear, supernova, or something like that. What if it blows up this whole room? No, I don't think we need any more people in here until we know what we are dealing with. Don't need to increase the possible casualty count."

"Maybe we should move everyone back," Fury spared a look at Barton. Barton could see the concern in Fury's eyes, he looked away.

"We know what we signed on for sir. No one who works in the field really expects make retirement. Maybe ask Selvig about his team. My team, we have our orders… But you don't need to be here. You can oversee this from a safe distance…"

* * *

"Then what happened?" the agent across from Hawkeye asked for a third time. It would've been Coulson's job to debrief him, but now it was some replacement whose name Clint didn't bother to remember.

Clint lifted his face head from his hands and continued, "Then the portal opened and Loki appeared." He was quiet again as he replayed the whole scene in his head again for what had to be the hundredth time.

"Agent Barton…"

"What!?" Clint snapped. "You know what happened. Why do I need to tell you? He fired at us, we fired back, didn't do shit. Then he jumped in my fucking skull and took my brain for a ride. I killed a bunch of people," His voice cracked, "Innocent fucking people." Clint shoves his chair back knocking it over and begins pacing the room. Over and over the same scene plays in his head. He stops at one wall letting his head fall forward, thudding softly against it. Next came his fists, punching the wall at either side of his head. When they come in contact with the wall, he instinctually flattens his hands, spreading his fingers wide. "And I shot…Directory Fury."

"But he was only slightly injured."

"Doesn't fucking matter. So just get to the point where I'm relieved of duty so I can leave."

"You're not being relieved of duty Agent Barton. In fact, Director Fury has put in for commendations for the entire Avenger Initiative team and a month vacation for you and Romanoff specifically. Being that you two are the only Avengers officially S.H.I.E.L.D. employees."

Clint didn't move. He had a hard time accepting what was being said so he put it out of his mind. It couldn't be true, as much as he fucked up and he's getting a commendation? There was a knock at the door. Someone entered, walked across the room, and put their hand on Clint's shoulder.

"I think that's enough debriefing for now. Agent Barton, my office, five minutes."

"Yes…Sir." Clint turned just in time to see Nick Fury leaving the room.

"Close the door, we need to talk." Fury indicated the space beside his chair, "Want to sit?" Clint just shook his head. "Okay. I know you've been through a lot. I can't even begin to imagine what it was like to be under Loki's control. I heard some of Selvig's debrief, I think he won't be sleeping for awhile. So go take Romanoff somewhere, let this out of your system. This between us can wait. Just let me know when you are ready."

"I can't…This, I can't. I betrayed you, I could've killed you, I don't deserve…" Clint opened the door, turned from Fury, "I'm sorry…Sir," and walked away.


	6. Release

_A/N – So here we are the last chapter of Tension. It's a long chapter but I hope it leaves you satisfied. There is a bit of non-consent/dubious-consent in this chapter. Thanks to all that have read, followed, reviewed and added this story to their favorites. EDIT 12/6/12 - Fixed some typos and cleaned up some of the dialogue in the last two scenes._

They all disappeared shortly after being debriefed about the battle for New York. Stark, of course, was the first to resurface. There were interviews to be done and who better than Stark to deal with the onslaught of publicity. But as much as Stark loved the attention anyone who looked closely could see that his smile wasn't as bright as before and there was a distinctive haunted look in his eye. You didn't look into the face of death without taking some damage, especially if it wasn't your first time.

Banner was the next to reappear, only briefly. Some lucky camera crew caught him leaving Stark Tower one day. Banner didn't leave the tower for a long time after that. When he finally did it was in one of Tony's heavily tinted window limos.

Rogers appeared about a week later in full Captain America uniform, assisting with the continuing clean-up efforts. Encouraging others to volunteer their time to rebuild the town they loved. When pressed by the reporter as to why the other Avenger's weren't around, Steve was prepared with an explanation. "Well, Miss Matthews, you probably already know that Mr. Stark, Iron Man, is busy working on fundraising to pay for rebuilding efforts. Dr. Banner is hard at work figuring out the Chitauri structure, weaponry, and such so that we can be better prepared in the event they come back. Which I assure you is a very, very unlikely possibility but we still need to be prepared. Thor is back on his home planet of Asgard insuring the safety of Earth from alien invasion on his end…"

"And what of Black Widow and Hawkeye?" The reporter interrupted.

"Black Widow and Hawkeye were and are agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. therefore divulging their current whereabouts can put them in danger. I assure you they would like to be part of the rebuild effort but their first priority is making the country safer for you and me. Now if you excuse me I have some cleaning up to do." Steve made a huge show of picking up a piece of broken wall nearly twice his size and throwing it into a nearby dumpster.

"Good performance there Captain," a man said just outside of camera view. Even though the camera crew was starting to pack up their equipment, the man made a point of keeping his back to them. With the ball cap and sunglasses most people didn't give him a second look but Steve recognized the voice immediately and walked over to him.

"How you holding up Barton?" Steve whispered.

"I'll live, still not sure why I should be allowed to."

"Still wanting to be punished for what Loki did I see."

"Loki didn't kill those people, I did."

"Think about this Clint, when someone shoots and kills a person, do we blame the gun? You were the gun. No matter what you believe, we all saw you as the gun." Steve walks off to help workers lift a fallen light pole. Clint shakes his head and continues to pick up debris.

Meanwhile Natasha is across town having lunch in a Russian tea room. It's her first day back at work and she's gathering intel on a terrorist cell that wants to take advantage of the Chitauri invasion to cause more destruction. Her lunch companion is a mid-level arms dealer with a thing for redheads.

Fury wasn't too surprised when Natasha walked into his new office the day before, asking for reinstatement. He had authorized her and Clint a month vacation but didn't figure either of them would be gone long. He knew they were lifers, it's hard to stay away from the work they did; you became addicted to the danger.

"I'd prefer to stay here in New York if possible for assignments. I'm willing to even do," Natasha made a face, "Office work. I just need something to do."

"How's he doing?" Fury asked knowing why she didn't want to leave the city.

"Considering everything I guess he's fine. I tried to get him to leave town for a while but that lasted about two days. We are staying in Stark Tower by the way. The lower floors have been deemed structurally safe and Stark's security has kept the media away for the most part."

"That's good. I should be able to grant your request for reinstatement. I hadn't planned on naming a replacement for Phil for another month, so you will report directly to me; as will Barton, when he's ready."

"Yes sir. Have you called him yet?"

"No, I figured he needed space. I was waiting for him to call me."

Natasha got up to leave. "You'll be waiting a very long time then."

* * *

Four in the morning and Clint still wasn't back. Natasha had checked his room several times and even went down to the lobby and talked to security, but still no Clint. By five she had enough and activated the GPS tracking on Clint's phone and five minutes later she was heading out into the pre-dawn traffic to bring him home.

"I still got work to do Tasha." Clint said, attempting to stand up straight and pretend he wasn't as tired as he felt. But really he didn't have the energy to keep up the act.

Natasha looked at all the debris that surrounded the area. "It'll be here tomorrow. I'm pretty sure it will be here next week as well. You are not personally responsible for every crumbled piece of wall that needs to be thrown away."

"Yes, I am. I caused this."

"Loki caused this." Natasha hissed back at him. "Do I need to beat that into your head like I beat him out of it? I will you know. Loki, the Chitauri, they are responsible for all of this. We created some of the damage as well, but that was so they wouldn't destroy everything. You are not the cause." Clint picked up another piece of debris and tried to throw it into the dumpster but didn't have the energy to get it over the edge. It bounced back and hit his shoulder before falling to the ground. He leaned down to pick it up again. Natasha walked over and grabbed the debris trying to pull it away from him. "Don't do this … Look at me Clint." Clint looked into her eyes for a moment but then looked away. "Don't do this to yourself…please." Clint spared Natasha another glance. There wasn't a trace of Black Widow on her face, this was Natasha and he was hurting her. He just couldn't take on any more guilt. He released his grip on the debris and after Natasha threw it into the dumpster followed her to the car.

"I have to," Clint said as they were in the elevator heading up to their rooms.

"Have to what, Clint?"

"I have to do this to myself. Everyone seems to think I deserve a free pass or something."

"Because you do."

"Never."

Natasha sighed. "When you go back don't leave without me, I want to help with the clean up as well."

"You want to make sure I don't work myself to death."

"Same difference."

"Only one of those needs to be done Tash."

"I know. But I'll still help with the cleanup." Natasha replied, exiting the elevator and walking briskly to her room, not allowing Clint time to debate the issue further.

For the next week Natasha and Clint worked on helping clean up New York. They moved around to different locations to not be recognized. Occasionally Natasha would have to leave to work on something for S.H.I.E.L.D., but she always came back and picked Clint up. She knew he wouldn't go home otherwise.

"You ready to head out," Natasha knocked on Clint's door. Not hearing a response, she opened his door to find Clint's bow, notched with an arrow, pointed at her. Natasha stood very still until Clint sat the bow beside him on the bed. "I take that as a no."

"I don't know."

"Want to go back to work, don't you?"

"I can't, I can't be trusted."

Natasha walked across the room and joined him on the bed. "Just like I couldn't be trusted when you first brought me in? I know you still had an order to kill me if I stepped out of line that first year. I wouldn't be surprised if it's still there."

"It's not…Coulson removed it six months ago. Is there one for me?"

"Not that I've been told, would it make you feel better if there was?"

"Probably not, but it would make me feel everyone else was safer."

"We are agents, Clint. Safe is never part of the job description. But if you want…" Natasha considered carefully what she was about to offer. "If you want, we can have a kill order, between you and me."

"Okay."

"But I get to determine if you step out of line. Only me Barton, not you, understand?" Clint nods. "Say it Barton."

"If I step out of line, if I'm a danger to the team and others, you take me out."

"And who determines if you are a danger?"

"You do Tasha." Clint reached to where he knew she had a gun hidden in the small of her back. She anticipated the move so her hand was on the gun, not his. "Do it now."

"I determine. Not you." Natasha responded. "You're not a danger to anyone right now, except maybe yourself. Come on, no more cleaning, you are going back to work."

As they walked into the temporary headquarters for S.H.I.E.L.D. Clint pulled out his cellphone and typed in 'at work', then immediately erased it. Natasha waited until they were almost to Fury's office before telling Clint that he was their temporary handler.

"I can't do this Tasha."

"You can and you will."

"I shot him. How do you know he won't kill me on sight? Actually that seems like a good idea…"

"Quit being a child Clint. If Fury wanted you dead, you would've never made it out of debriefing." Natasha knocked on the door and opened it when Fury responded. She noticed the momentarily look of surprise on Fury's face as well as the small gasp from Clint. "Director Fury, Agent Barton would like to be reinstated for active service."

"That shouldn't be a problem; same conditions as your reinstatement?" Natasha nodded. Fury turned his attention to Clint. "I was hoping you two would take more time off but figured you wouldn't. The rest of your vacation time is still available any time you need a break." Clint nodded mutely. "I have security details if you are interested. We are moving stuff from the helicarrier while it's in dry dock for repairs so bringing a lot of sensitive stuff through town. It would just be a ride along, a few hours each day. Interested?"

"Yes si…Director Fury." Clint was fidgeting slightly under Fury's gaze.

"Is there anything else?"

Clint looked down and sighed deeply, "I don't know, I'm sorry just doesn't sound strong enough to cover I almost killed you."

"You didn't almost kill me, barely knocked the wind out of me."

"What if I had aimed for your head," Clint's voiced cracked as he mentally pictured the scenario.

"But you didn't and you know why?"

"Because Loki must not have wanted you dead…"

"You don't believe that." Fury got up from his desk but stopped and reluctantly sat back down.

"Um, I got to meet with some of the analysts. I'll be on the third floor. Clint, come find me when you're done here." Natasha hastily left the room, closing the door behind her.

"You have great control. That's why I'm not dead."

Clint shook his head, "If I had control, all those other people wouldn't be dead. If I had control I'd have brought in Loki my fucking self."

"Loki is at the very least alien, supposedly a god. You survived that. And sometimes you managed to gain a little control. Not a lot of people could have done that. I think it was easier with people you knew. You didn't kill Romanoff either."

"She's hard to kill," Clint tried to laugh but there was no joy behind it.

"When you were fighting her were you fighting against Loki's control as well?"

"You know I was. I couldn't just…It was Natasha."

"And the same with me?"

Clint nodded, "But I failed you again."

This time Fury got out of his chair and walked over to Clint, lifting his hand and touching his hair. Clint flinched and step back before dropping his head down. "You didn't fail me, you didn't fail anyone. But I understand you don't believe that." Fury turned and walked back his desk. "I could order you to not believe you failed but we know that would be bullshit. You would just bury it, fake it, and neither of us really want that. I want to help, but you've got to want it too. But you're not ready yet, are you Wild Boy?"

"No…si…" Clint just shook his head.

"Come to me when you are. I'll be waiting. No matter how long. You didn't fail me."

Clint didn't look up but turned and walked to the door opening it. He turned toward back for a moment, "Thank you… Director Fury."

* * *

Clint could do the security detail with eyes closed which was good since he was having a hard time keeping them open. This was because he had slept less than a handful of hours in as many days. After Natasha would go to bed he would sneak back out of the Tower to do more cleanup work. Last night he had lost track of time. When he arrived back to the Tower for a quick nap and shower before work, Natasha was sitting in front of his door. By the time they finished arguing he only had time for a shower.

Clint figured that he was supposed to be appreciating all the care and concern that Romanoff and, from a distance, Fury was showing him. But he didn't. Every day his morning started with a text from Fury, telling him things were not his fault. Telling him how strong he was, telling him how he admired Clint's control. Clint didn't respond. Natasha was always waiting for him after he finished his detail, taking him back to Stark Tower and for the most part not letting him out of her sight until bedtime. When she couldn't be there she enlisted the help of Pepper or Bruce to keep him occupied and not on the streets of New York.

"I don't need a babysitter Banner."

"Who said anything about babysitting? I've gotten to a point in a project I'm working on that I'm stuck. I need to take a break away from it and decided to watch a movie. Because I don't like watch movies alone doesn't mean I'm trying to babysit you."

"You were alone out there for how long Banner?"

"Lost track, but I never watched movies while I was on the road."

"Fine, but it better not be a stupid romantic comedy."

When Clint and Natasha arrived at Stark Tower the next evening there were few hundred protestors crowding the front entrance. From the signs it could be ascertained that they were upset about the progress of the cleanup, the speed of which funds were being funneled to the rebuild, and compensation efforts. Natasha drove past and into the parking garage on the side of the building without so much as a glance in the protestor's direction. However, Clint eyes never left the scene until the side of the tower blocked his view.

"Don't go out there," Natasha said as they exited the garage and walked across the lobby to the elevators.

"I wasn't planning on it." Natasha arched an eyebrow at Clint, who looked away. Before they make it to the elevators, a protestor pushes past the security at the front doors and into the lobby.

"Why do you get to live so well, while my children live on the street?" The woman screamed as she ran toward them. Natasha immediately pulled her gun and pointed it at the advancing woman who stopped in her tracks about ten feet away.

"Put your gun away, she's not going to hurt us." Clint said taking a few steps forward toward the woman, Natasha held her position. Clint turned his head back to Natasha, "Please." Natasha put her weapon down but did not holster it. "Why don't you head on upstairs, I'll be fine. There's security if there is a problem."

"They are doing such a great job already," Natasha responded but headed to the elevators anyway. Only when the doors closed did she holster her gun.

"Ma'am," Clint turned his attention to the woman who while standing still was practically vibrating with anger. "I wouldn't call my stay in Stark Tower living well. It's a necessity, security reasons. My," he nodded toward the elevators "and my partner's security when we are not on assignment. I'm Agent um, code name Hawkeye and I'm sorry for your current situation." Clint extended his hand to her, in return she spit in his face.

"You're the reason my husband, my brother are dead. I've lost track of how many friends, some are still missing but I'm sure they are dead as well. And why, so you can have your name, your face plastered everywhere, big fucking heroes aren't you?"

"I'm no hero," Clint responded, not bothering to wipe his face. "I've never considered myself one. I just did my job. Wish I could've done it better so only the aliens died, but I'm not that good."

"You lose anyone," the woman snapped back, "or were your families kept safe while the rest of us were fodder?"

"Don't have any family, haven't in a very long time. But I lost fellow agents and…" Clint swallowed hard. "I did lose someone. He was probably the closest I've had to family. His name was Phil. He sacrificed himself to try and stop the invasion. But in the end I guess he failed, we all failed." Clint looked past the woman to see two security guards advancing. He gives them a quick nod and steps back. "Security is going to escort you out. Don't resist, I'd hate you to end up in jail. I can't promise anything but I'll talk to Stark and see what the holdup is... I'm sorry for your losses."

The woman considered spitting on him again, but then she looked into his eyes and could clearly see the hurt and pain that lay there. "I'm sorry about your friend Phil."

Clint choked out a whispered thank you, turned and headed for the elevators as security took the woman by the arms and escorted her back out of the building.

Clint had just changed out of his work clothes into comfortable pair of jeans and t-shirt when Natasha knocked on his door. "Dinner, movie, upstairs. This is not negotiable."

"Fine," Clint huffed as he put on his shoes. "I need to talk to Stark anyway."

"Whatever that woman had to say, I'm sure he's heard it a thousand times. This is what Stark and mostly likely Potts are good at. Leave it to them."

"But her and her kids…"

"I should've dragged you to the elevator. Now come on, everyone is waiting."

When they got off the elevator, Tony and Pepper were still in a heated debate about the security breach. Bruce was on one of the couches desperately trying to tune both of them out. The arguing stopped immediately when they noticed Clint and Natasha walk into the room. Pepper walked across to Clint first, "Sorry about what happened downstairs, seems like security didn't anticipate how fast the crowd would grow so was slow on getting reinforcements. It won't happen again."

Clint shook the comment off, "Not a problem, I'm just worried about the woman, they didn't arrest her did they? She's just got a lot going on; they have no place to go."

"More people complaining about money." Tony said while pouring him a drink. "We have distributed a ton of money, millions I'm talking here. I can't help that the agencies are taking forever to do something with it. I'm a philanthropist not a social worker."

"If anyone asks, you can tell them that we are working with the mayor's office and local agencies to cut through the red tape and get people the help they need as soon as possible." Pepper interjected.

"Are you really?" Clint asked.

Pepper gave Clint a look, "Of course not me personally, I still have to run Stark Industries but our community relations team is working their asses off. It's their job. Now let's eat."

Clint picked through dinner, only eating when someone glared at him, Natasha, or gave him a concerned glance, Bruce and Pepper. Tony didn't talk, tearing into his food like he hadn't eaten in days. Knowing his record for neglecting himself, it was highly possible that was the case.

When it came time to watch the movie, it seemed that Natasha had taken on Bruce as a compatriot. They sat on either side of Clint on the sectional pinning him into the corner keeping him from leaving. However, Clint was able to tune out most of the movie. He looked around; everyone seemed to be enjoying it. He couldn't tell if Natasha was but that wasn't anything new. As for him, he wanted to be anywhere else but there. All he could think of was that woman and her kids sleeping out on the street. He had lived on the street more than once in his life; he knew how tough it was. Now these kids were having the same experience, because he failed them. The pressure of the added guilt was making Clint feel decidedly claustrophobic.

Clint got up saying he needed to use the bathroom but the ding of the elevator gave his plan away. Natasha practically launched herself from the couch and made it to the elevator and in before the doors closed. "Where do you think you are going?"

"Out."

"More debris to pick up, or are you going to put that woman up somewhere for the night?"

"Out, for a drink. Is that okay with you?"

"You can drink here, I'm sure Stark has everything."

"I can't breathe Tash. I need to get out."

Natasha relented, "Just don't do anything stupid."

Clint drove around for about an hour until he found what he was looking for; a bar, small, but from the parking lot, fairly busy. It obviously catered to a gay crowd if the signage was any indication. He went inside and shoved his way toward the bar to get a beer then found a corner so he could get a better look at what all was going on. It seemed to be an upscale crowd, mostly business men he decided. He scanned the crowd and saw no one that gave him a top or a dom vibe. So he sat back and drank his beer while trying to ignore the constant throbbing sound of dance music and happy people around him.

Finishing the first beer he considers a second but has no desire to fight his way back to the bar, besides this isn't what he needs. He squeezes through the crowd and back out on the street. He drives until he gets to the new temporary headquarters. He just sits in his car for a while not knowing what to do. Finally he takes his bow case and quiver out of the trunk, goes in and asks the guard on duty where the training facilities are. The guard lets him know they are not finished yet but gives him the name and location of a twenty-four hour gym that allows S.H.I.E.L.D. employees to use it for free. Clint doubted they have archery facilities or a shooting range, so he throws his gear back in the trunk. He then fishes out his phone to dial Natasha.

"Where are you?" Natasha said.

"Headquarters, do you want to spar?"

"Tomorrow. Why don't you come back now? The movie's over, everyone has wandered off to their own spaces."

"Not ready yet, guess I'll just drive around some more."

"Clint?"

"Yes."

"You gotta let this go."

"Like you've let go of your ledger."

"I don't let it affect my work, my daily life Clint. Maybe letting go wasn't the right words. You need to move on."

"I'm trying Tasha."

"Try harder."

Clint was about to put his phone away when he saw the indicator flashing that he had unread text messages. He scrolled through them, deleting most immediately; different members of the team texting, asking if he was okay. Well obviously he wasn't, he thought, if he was they wouldn't need to ask. He saw there was a couple from Fury. The first was like the usual ones he had been sending lately but the last one was different. "Here's the address to my new place, decided to go ahead and just rent something since I'll won't get to stay at my place for a while. I hate hotels. Come by when you are ready."

He was tempted to delete the message just like he did with so many, but he couldn't deny the desire to drive directly there. To sit at Fury's feet, to feel his calloused hands as they ran up the back of his neck, his fingers making rows in his hair. To be called his, most importantly to be forgiven. But not yet. He still couldn't think of Fury for more than a few seconds before the image of the bullet hitting him and Fury collapsing on the floor flooded his mind.

Clint laid his head on the steering wheel until the images finally went away. He wished they hadn't allowed Loki to go back to Asgard. Maybe they could have forced him to fix his brain so he didn't feel so guilty anymore. Maybe putting an exploding arrow through his alien heart would make everything better. Clint sighed, turned the ignition, and headed back to the tower. When he had got back he went to Natasha's room and knocked. There wasn't an answer. He knocked again.

"What," Natasha's sleepy voice was tinged with annoyance.

"It's me Nat, can I come in?" Natasha padded across the floor and unlocked the door, returning to bed. The room was dark but after a couple of seconds to adjust his eyesight, Clint could easily spot the bed. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Natasha looked at her clock, "Not much left of night, but yes." Clint locked the door back and left his clothes at the edge of the bed as he crawled in beside her. She rewarded him with gentle kisses, on his lips, along his neck, her hands caressing him all over. In the end he couldn't relax and pushed her away. She nodded once to him then turned over and fell asleep. Clint spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling.

* * *

The next night Clint went to the bars again. This time he did a little research and found a list of bars that catered to what he was looking for; someone to help release the tension that was building up inside of him. He was tired of the guilt, the nightmares of seeing Fury fall, again and again. And then there was Natasha. They had argued again before he left. That seemed to be their only mode of communication lately. She had asked him where he was going. He had snapped back. It wasn't fair to her, she was only concerned but Clint was tired of people being concerned about him.

He only spent about ten minutes in the first bar. In the first minute he realized the bar reminded him of the place he met Fury on Halloween. He thought he could shake the feeling but it didn't go away. It was affecting his mood which probably showed on his face since people seemed to keep a wide circle distance from him. The next bar was better. It was wall-to-wall people and a lot of which seemed to be alone. Clint had just ordered his second beer when someone unexpectedly and aggressively grabbed his ass. Clint swung his arm around immediately attempting to catch the person across the throat, his trained reaction for an attack. He caught the guy square in the chest. The man took just a step back and then leaned down slightly to get into Clint's face.

"That," the man said tapping Clint's forearm, "Is not a proper response. The correct response would be 'Thank you sir for being so appreciative of my ass.'"

Clint pulled his arm back and grabbed his beer, making a point of taking a long sip before responding. "That would assume you were my sir, which you are not." The vision of Fury falling again flashed in his brain but he was able to keep his face neutral.

"Smart mouth for a submissive."

"Who said I was?"

"You give off the look. The tight, fuck me jeans, the pretty boy leather vest, you looking for someone to put you in your place."

"Assuming of course, I don't already have someone." He even managed to smile up at the much taller and clearly heavier man. Inside his heart ached.

"No one would let someone that looked like you come out alone especially without something to show ownership. And I don't see any jewelry on you." The bigger man ran a thick finger down the bare part of Clint's chest, "Unless there's a piercing or two I'm not seeing. So either you aren't owned by anyone or you don't want to be with them any longer."

Clint thought about how this jerk was so wrong. He was still Fury's as far as he knew and he wanted nothing more than to be his. But it just wasn't possible. Clint's thoughts had blocked out everything, he hadn't noticed until he felt the bigger man repeatedly poking his chest. "What?"

"I said, you need someone to show you how to really submit. Take that attitude out of you; get you down on your knees, where you are supposed to be."

"Oh and you're the one to do it?" The man suddenly grabs Clint's crotch and squeezes. It's so sudden and so painful that Clint is slow to react. When he does it's half-hearted. His mind is at war. On one hand this guy is a jerk and needs to be shown a lesson, on the other hand for the first time since the battle someone is giving him what he wants, punishment. The man twists his hand and Clint swears he can see stars, his legs are wobbly and he can barely stand. The man says nothing but pointedly looks at Clint and then the floor; he knows what the man wants. In many ways it's a relief, this man can see what his team, what his fellow agents refuse to see. That he's no hero, that he's not strong, that he's weak, that he's nothing. Clint began to kneel and the pressure was released before his knees hit the floor.

"Stay there, I'll be back in a minute, then we'll go back to my place." The man heads off towards the bathroom. Moments later the bartender is standing in front of Clint, offering him a hand up.

"You don't have to put up with his shit. Just say the word and the bouncer will put him out on his ass. You're nice looking, I'm sure there is a dozen guys in here who would be more than happy to take you home and give you what you want."

Clint kept his hands on the floor steadying himself as he tried to calm his breath and take his mind off the pain. "It's not about what I want. It's what I need." Clint dropped his head to his chest and rested into a comfortable position waiting for the man to return.

"Stand." Clint jerked to attention; he had been lost in a replay of Loki's arrival, of his betrayal of Fury, verbally and in the end physically. He stood clumsily, still in a bit of a fog. The man put a nylon dog collar around his neck. It was a little loose but still scratched along his skin. Attached to the metal loop of the collar was a chain. The man turned and pulling on the chain led Clint out of the bar.

"I always take my own car," Clint said trying to avoid the eyes of people coming into the bar. He'd never worn a collar in public, nevertheless been led by a chain. It felt humiliating. He wondered if it was because of the chain or the hand at the other end. He reckons that he would've stood proud if the hand at the other end was Fury. Well before 'it' happened anyway.

"Well this time is different." The man led him toward his car, walking very fast as Clint struggled to keep pace.

"What do I call you?"

"Master Thor."

Clint snorted, "Thor, you're shitting me. You're not even blonde." And you're not even half as good looking, Clint thought to himself. Master Thor suddenly yanked at the chain causing Clint to pitch forward and land face first on the ground.

"Hurry and get up or I'll just leave you here." There was a brief moment when the coherent, undamaged, sane part of Clint's brain considered letting this stupidity, this self-loathing go. To just lay there and deal with it another way, but the guilt was eating at him so much he didn't see any other way out. So he stood back up and let himself be led to the car and eventually to Master Thor's house.

Clint flinched every time they passed under a street light or an oncoming vehicle illuminated the inside of the car. He felt exposed, he felt shame, and he felt like he was going to be sick. Worst of all, he felt this was the right thing; that this would finally be painful enough, punishment enough for him to stop seeing Fury fall.

"On your knees," Master Thor commanded the moment they stepped into his basement play room. "You don't have the right to stand in my place. You will crawl wherever you need to go, standing only if the equipment requires it." He then points over to a St. Andrews cross on the back wall. "Take off all your clothes and go stand against that."

Clint removed his clothes sitting them on the floor by the stairs. Then he crawled on hands and knees across the cold concrete floor to the x-shaped structure. Standing up he places himself on the structure, facing away from the room aligning his arms and legs with the beams.

"Turn around," Master Thor commands as he walks up to the cross. "I want to see the look on your face when I break you." He secures the leather cuffs attached to cross to Clint's wrists and ankles. Lastly he secured the belt that is attached to the middle of the structure across Clint's waist cinching it tight. He turned and walked back to a box where he rummaged through and sat a variety of implements on the table beside it.

"My safe word is widow," Clint called out to him.

"And why the fuck should I care?" came the response.

The first thing Master Thor brought over was a leather toy shaped like a triangle with a triangle piece cut out from the middle length wise. "Do you know what this is?" he asked Clint while stroking it across his face.

Clint nodded, "It's a vipers tongue."

"Good so you are not completely stupid."

"I'm not stupid."

Master Thor suddenly swung the viper's tongue against Clint's thigh. "Did I ask you to speak?" He then repeated the swing against Clint's other thigh. "The only thing I want to hear is your whimpers and cries, you pathetic piece of crap."

Clint bit back a response as Master Thor continued to swing left and right against Clint's thighs. It was painful, but nothing he hadn't felt before. He flinched once or twice when the swing went wild and hit the base of his cock but otherwise he had already decided he wasn't going to give Master Thor the reaction he wanted. The incoherent, non-logical part of his brain was determined to bring out the worst in this Dom, he wanted the punishment to be as bad as he needed. Since he couldn't bring himself to ask for it he would have to guide the hand that controlled the implements.

"You got a high tolerance for pain don't you?" Master Thor snarled as the crop smacked against Clint's chest again. He was now on his fourth toy and still for the most part Clint hadn't reacted. The front of his body was covered in red lines and raised welts but the tension in his body hadn't eased one bit. His clouded brain couldn't figure out why.

"Not high tolerance, just had better," Clint said with a smirk. He was rewarded with a heavy slap across the face.

"You will not disrespect me." Master Thor grumbled as he paced back and forth. "You are probably just used to these toys; know how they are going to feel." He examined some of Clint's old scars, completely misinterpreting where they had come from. "Yeah, aren't you the little pain slut," he mused as he ran a finger down what he didn't realize was a knife wound. "But every little slut has a weakness." He continued to run his hand over Clint's chest then suddenly grabbed and twisted his left nipple. Clint reflexively gasped, sharply inhaling through his open mouth. Master Thor smiled and leaned in until his mouth was a mere inch from Clint's ear, "Bingo," he hissed.

"Fuck, no clips," Clint snapped when the first clip went on his left nipple; the sane part of his brain again was wrestling for control. Master Thor ignored him and proceeded to place a clip on the right nipple. Then he started adding clips in a circular pattern around each nipple. By the time the tenth clip was attached, Clint was about to hyperventilate. "Widow," he breathed out.

"Close your fucking mouth," was the response, along with a slap across the face. "Don't make me have to gag you." Clint closed his mouth as the rest of the clips were attached.

He didn't open his mouth even though the pain was bordering on excruciating. He didn't cry out when Master Thor would either open and close the clips or beat at them with the crop, reawaking the nerve endings. He didn't scream, he didn't moan, all he did was take deep breaths and replay the words of Fury in his head like a mantra, "You have such good control Wild Boy."

Then suddenly it was over. Well actually not suddenly, it had been about five minutes since the point where Clint passed out. He opens his eyes as the last clip is removed, blinking his eyes several times to orientate himself with where he is.

"I don't think I've met such a stubborn little bitch," Master Thor said as he cradled a hand against Clint's face. "All you had to do was give me what I wanted and it would've been done." He slaps Clint hard again then begins to undo the straps. "Get your clothes and leave; I have no use for you." Master Thor turns and wanders off to his box putting the rest of the implements away. Clint rubs feeling back into his wrists and shakes feeling back into his legs before stumbling off the x-frame over towards his clothes. He feels sore, ashamed, but still tense, still no sense of relief. If anything he feels worse, he's broken yet another promise to Fury, allowed himself to be under the hand of another. This time the image of Fury falling is not the only one in his head. There is also the image of Fury placing his collar back in its bag, never to be seen again.

"On your knees," Master Thor yells at him. "You don't have the right to…"

"Fuck you," Clint snarled back, taking the last steps to his clothes. He puts all his focus into getting dressed, up the stairs, and out onto the street. To think about anything more he would've crumpled right there and never got back up. After a half hour he manages to get a cab to take him back to his car. He starts up the car and heads back to the tower.

Natasha, as he expected, is waiting in front of his door. The last thing he wanted to do is have yet another argument with her, but it was too late to turn and go back to the elevator, she'd just hunt him down. Natasha grabbed the leash, which until that moment Clint had forgotten it and the nylon collar were still attached. "Clint, what have you done?"

"Been extremely stupid Nat."

"Rock bottom yet?" Clint nodded. "Good, now maybe you'll actually listen," Natasha pulled the leash and by extension Clint down the hall to the elevators.

"You know I can walk by myself and I probably should take this off anyway," Clint reaches up to unhook the collar. Natasha yanks gently on the leash.

"Leave it. He needs to see this, that way you won't hold back anything."

"Who?" Clint asked nervously. Natasha didn't respond but lead him into the elevator and pressed the button for five floors up. The doors opened on one of the temporary research lab floors. Clint took in a quick breath. He did not want Tony Stark to see him like this. He started to back away; Natasha turned and gave him a look. "I've been through enough; do I need to endure humiliation by Stark?"

"Oh I hadn't thought of that. Maybe I should go get him." Natasha mused as she tugged against the leash, she would have to admit that on some level she was enjoying this, but mostly she just wanted to get her Hawkeye back.

"Okay if we are not going to see Stark, then…" Clint's eyes grew large, "Not Fury." The name came out as a whisper. It would kill him to see Fury at that moment, while he was wearing someone else's collar, someone else's marks.

"No. You are in no condition to see him. But he does know this is going on. Well not this moment, but he knew you may get to a point that I, we could do this." They arrived at a generic white door. Natasha knocked, waited ten seconds and then opened the door.

"Rock bottom?" Bruce asked as Natasha and Clint entered his temporary lab. Natasha nodded and turned to leave after pushing Clint further into the room.

"Talk to him Clint, we need you back."

Bruce pulled one of the wheeled stools over to Clint and gestured for him to sit, then pulled over a stool for himself. "The reason you're here is because the team decided you weren't getting better on your own and that you probably needed to talk to someone. Someone who," Banner chuckled nervously, "someone who knew what it was like to hurt people when they weren't in control of themselves; and more importantly had to live with the guilt daily."

"So what you going to do, teach me to mediate or something?"

"No, although if you want to learn that go for it. No I'm talking about letting go of what was done when Loki was riding along. I'm sure the rest that happened after Natasha got you back you're used to."

Clint nodded.

"So what's bothering you?"

"I failed him," Clint replied and winced as he saw Fury fall again. He reached up to his neck and undid the collar, flinging it and the leash across the room causing Bruce to jump a bit. Clint doesn't notice. "And the more I try the more I fail him."

"Fail who?" Banner asks.

Clint sighed dropping his head into his hands, "Fury."

"Well Fury is your commanding officer, so I guess I can understand that…"

"He's much more than that Bruce," Clint responded momentarily glancing in the direction that the collar and leash went.

Bruce followed his gaze, "Does those things have something to do with that relationship," Bruce asked cautiously.

"They are not his but yes."

Bruce blew out a breath, "Well this should be interesting."

"Promise you won't tell Stark."

"Of course I won't tell him, I don't think he would believe me anyway."

Clint and Bruce, well mostly Bruce, talked for hours. Clint had to admit it helped listening someone else talk of being out of control. Natasha, he knew, understood it but was very tight lipped about her past. Bruce on the other hand had made some peace with his. It gave Clint hope.

Clint started to yawn and he looked around for a clock. Bruce slid back toward one of the computers and told him that it was almost seven. "Shit, I've got to get ready for work." Clint gets up and heads for the door, "Thanks Banner."

"Anytime Clint, if you want to talk some more you know where I am."

Clint managed to shower and get dressed in time to meet Natasha for a drive into work. He was still very sore, and bruised as he noticed in the mirror, but he needed to keep busy. The drive in was quiet and Natasha only had one question, "Better?" Clint nodded and Natasha gave him a small smile and responded, "Good." That was all that needed to be said.

The talk had relieved some of the tension but nowhere near all. "At work," Clint typed and then erased it. "Morning, Banner knows," is the message he sent to Fury.

"Glad you talked to him. Hope it helped. You didn't fail me," Fury responded.

"You just don't know," Clint thought as he went to pick up his gear before starting his shift.

After his shift, Clint went back to Stark Tower, skipping his floor and heading up to the temporary labs. "Do you have a minute Banner?" Bruce nodded but put a finger up to let Clint know that he was in the middle of something. Clint grabbed a stool and waited.

"So what do you need?" Bruce asked after he came to a stopping point with his project.

"Have you ever been able to apologize to the people you hurt? I mean apologize in a way that felt real, not just like words."

"When I could, yes. But most of the time things were too chaotic afterward and I was on the run. However, Thor and I had a nice talk before he left and I apologized to Natasha the day you two moved into the tower. I had wanted to do that one earlier but there never seemed to be time."

"Did it help?"

"I don't know if it helped them but it did me. I know I don't have complete control over the big guy, sometimes I have zero control. However, it's still a part of me and causes me to do some pretty horrific things. But for me apologizing is not just saying to words, but letting myself feel the guilt and sorrow over what happened and hopefully reflecting it back to the person. So that they can see that I'm not just acknowledging something I don't want to happen again but also I wish it never happened in the first place."

"But it can happen again."

"Of course, but I can't control that, not completely, not yet anyway. What I can control is what I do afterwards. It's not much, but it's better than nothing."

Clint went back to his room and changed out of his work clothes, took a nice long shower and pulled out a new set of clothes. He slid on his leather shorts and then a pair of loose sweats over top of them. Then he pulled on a long sleeve shirt, one that covered the marks that were starting to show on his forearms. He put on his shoes, grabbed his phone, keys, and headed out his door and right into Natasha.

"Where are you going?"

"To truly apologize, for so many things." Clint said and headed for the elevator.

There was a knock at Fury's door. He wasn't expecting anyone so he reached for his gun before heading to the door. "Who is it?"

The voice that responded came out choked and cracked, "It's Your Wild Boy, if you still want him Sir." Fury quickly sat his gun down on the low table near the door and opened it. Clint stood head bowed looking up at Fury with a sadness and a need that almost broke the bigger man's heart. Fury stepped back and indicated for Clint to come in. Once he closed the door he pulled Clint into a tight hug. It wasn't his way but he was so glad to have him back.

Clint pulled away, "I'm sorry for…everything. I need to be punished."

"Not for this Loki shit you don't."

"Why does everyone say that? I need to be punish…"

Fury sighed, "Are you questioning my authority?"

"No Sir, but it's not just about Loki." Clint took off his shirt and took another step back so that Fury could see all the marks on his chest, on his arms. Clint bowed his head, unable to meet the taller man's gaze.

Fury said nothing but walked over to Clint, examining every mark, ever bruise. "Is this all of them?" Clint shook his head. "Remove your clothes, everything. I want to see how badly someone damaged what's mine." Clint removed his clothes and stood naked before him, trembling slightly as Fury walked around him. "Did it help?" Fury asked.

"No Sir, he wasn't you. I wanted it to, I wanted to stop seeing me shoot you, stop seeing you fall. I didn't deserve you."

"And now?" Fury lifted Clint's chin up forcing him to meet his eyes.

"Now, I realize it's not my decision to make, never was. Even though I have tried to I have no control over how you react to my betrayals. All I can control is how I fell and how truly sorry I am that it happened, no matter how much I didn't have control over the situation.

"Exactly," Fury responded as ran his hand over Clint's hair, sending a shiver through him. He then moved to the foot locker, taking Clint's collar from the bag that lay inside. He also removed only one toy, a flogger with slightly stretchy strands and knotted ends. It stung like hell and even though Clint complained the most when it was used, they both knew it was his favorite.

Moving behind Clint, Fury places the collar around his neck, buckling it into place. "Turn," Fury snaps at Clint. Clint turns toward Fury placing his hands behind his back. Fury continues in a much softer voice. "You are my Wild Boy and I am your Sir. I alone determine if you need punishment or reward. And I," Fury reaches down for the flogger rubbing it slowly across Clint's chest. "I have determined what you need is to release this toxic poison of guilt from your body. With every touch of this against your skin you will release it. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir. I'm truly sorry Sir."

Fury gently strokes the flogger against Clint's cheek, "You should've come to me sooner. Hands on the wall."

Clint did as he was told placing his hands on the wall, trying to grip it so as not to let his hands fall. He needed this and he would not be denied. He felt the sharp sting of the first blow and cried out, with the second blow the tears started to fall.


End file.
